Standing Against, Standing Between
by Kinkor the Knight
Summary: Two years after his brush with Red Death, Hiccup's transformed life is about to transform again. Thrown into the middle of an ancient conflict, he will have to face Viking politics, enigmatic allies, and a terrifying new enemy out to destroy his world.
1. Prologue

Rights: DreamWorks and such. Not me. Nope.

Author Notes: Well, I never imagined I'd actually go back to fanfic. The work I put into my previous series many years ago told me to try writing original fiction, which I have and continue to.

So why this? Well, I really liked HTTYD. And when I really like something, my brain overloads. I have to get rid of the story so I can move on. I have learned from my past, though. I'm posting the prologue and the first two chapters – the second chapter ends at a spot I can be happy ending on if this story isn't going to fly with other people, but it's by no means the ending. God, no. If folks want more, I'll give you more (but you got to let me know). Otherwise, I'll have dumped my brain enough to move on.

A few other tidbits/warnings:

There are original characters in this story. The story will focus on them as well. But it is ultimately about Hiccup and Toothless and Astrid and the rest. Not every character's going to get equal story time, though. Sorry, plot comes first.

We're in sequel mode here. I'm following the movie (and that little twenty-minute Boneknapper special as well), but this will be AU once the actual sequel comes out.

Length: well, two chapters… or many. I do have an end game planned out, but I can't say how long this will be. I've learned how to be more efficient since my last bout of fanfic, but I still can't guess at length.

That's it. Hope you enjoy.

**Update (5/13/11): **After getting a few rather positive reviews, I've decided to go ahead and do the whole thing. I'll probably average a new chapter every other week or so. Thanks for all the feedback.

Prologue

_This is… um… No, I'm not going to do it._

_You know the location by now. If I have to point it out, then you haven't been paying attention, and I've got a lot of territory to cover here. So we're skipping over the Berk introduction and moving on._

_Almost two years ago, I went from official village nuisance and unofficial Lightning-Rod-of-Derision to something closer to, I don't know, Viking hero celebrity. Something usually reserved for guys who fell seven giants in one blow or who manage to punch Odin in his good eye and live to brag about it. _

_Well, all right, I did kill a dragon… a really, really, REALLY big dragon. An act that liberated the local dragon community from enslavement and ended a three-century long war. _

_Usually these kinds of heroic acts cost you an arm and a leg. I got off at half-price. _

_I'm not complaining, despite the fact that I now have to protect my left foot from rust. You really should see things in the village now. Hairy guys with axes taking up dragon-riding like they were five-year-olds trying to ride sheep. You can't exactly "fix" the classic Viking demeanor, but it has lightened up a bit. Not to mention that I've got more respect than I can deal with, and if that sounds like it might be a problem, it's because it can be at times. Again, trying not to complain. _

_So, end of story, right? Peace and prosperity for the village, love and respect for me, and nothing but a bright future headed for everyone involved. Right?_

_Yeah, doesn't ever work that way. Even if we weren't Vikings and weren't attracted to trouble like longboats are attracted to icebergs, something would crop up on its own. Gobber, who is the closest thing in our village to a scientific mind, calls it "chain reaction." Think of a pebble rolling down a hill that hits a bigger pebble that collides with a rock that bounces off a boulder that then proceeds to start an avalanche that levels a mountain which flattens everything below it and changes the landscape forever._

_I'm not sure where I fit into that analogy, but I'm in there somewhere. _

_The end of the Dragon War was my avalanche. There's a new landscape now and people are beginning to react to it. Most people around me are thrilled. "What a great view we have now," they tell me. "We don't miss the mountain at all." But there are others out there, distant people who used to expect a mountain filling up the horizon. They're finally figuring out something's different, and they're not thrilled._

_Then there are the other chain reactions. The world's full of them, or so I've begun to learn. Sometimes avalanches collide with other avalanches and suddenly rocks are flying everywhere and no one's safe anymore. That's where the next part of my life begins: with the avalanche I started colliding full on against someone else's. _

_It starts with a giant skeletal bull running amok. _

_I wish I were making that up. _


	2. A Complication, But Not The Problem

**Chapter One: A Complication, But Not The Problem**

In terms of weather, ninety miles due south makes a big difference. Ninety miles as the dragon flies, to be precise.

Hiccup was starting to get spoiled by the somewhat warmer weather the Mainland offered. Somewhat, as it was still threatening to rain most of the time and visibility was frequently deluded by large clumps of billowing mist, good for dragon-obscuring measures but bad on the mood. But the rain was usually rain and not ice in some form, and you could actually walk around without the need for a fur coat or six layers of fat.

Today, there was even some sun poking through in places. Back at his camp/hiding spot, Toothless had been playing Tag the Sunbeam, moving around to rest within any random burst of sunshine. It never lasted long, but for a cold-blooded creature with heat issues it was worth the effort.

"Okay, I've seen the place," said Astrid sourly. "Can we go?"

"Give it another minute," replied Hiccup. "Maybe the fog will shift and…"

"We'll get a better view of this dilapidated village? I think I've seen enough of it." She was a little too loud in her opinion, and a few nearby locals turned her way with scowls on their faces.

_Dilapidated_ was a kind word for Tempest Peak, a Mainland village whose population spoke Norse mostly out of proximity to their more-aggressive neighbors. A couple hundred people, maybe, with dirt where there should be grass and mud where there should be dirt. Outside of an earth-filled circle that was unofficially the town center, there was little rhyme or reason to the village's infrastructure. The homes looked improvised, mostly made of straw and twigs. The people were a mix of farmers and fishers in simple outfits and dresses.

First time around, they had ignored Hiccup. He had that harmless way about him. This time, not so much… or rather, not so much concerning Astrid, whose image and demeanor could never be characterized as harmless.

"Okay, the village itself is… unremarkable," he said in low voice, hoping Astrid would take the hint and lower hers. "But there's this really nice view straight between those two trees." He pointed at a pair of lengthy pines, standing like sentinels over the wooden homes of Tempest Point. "Clear view of the lower valley stretching on for miles. I caught it last time I was here and the weather's better this time out."

"Fine," she said, this time lowering her tone but not changing the irritation in it.

Astrid wasn't the impatient type. Her attitude came from picking up on the same thing Hiccup had been picking up on; the distrustful, suspicious and downright disapproving looks from the villagers moving about their daily lives on the damp roads and paths. Only the looks were not at aimed at Hiccup for a change.

_By the Gods, just give me the view_, Hiccup mentally pleaded. _Make this trip worthwhile and give me the view._

Today marked Hiccup's sixth trip to what the Vikings of Berk referred to as the Mainland – other folk called it the Continent. His sixth trip and his second visiting Tempest Point. It was probably the most hospitable of the villages he'd been to… as in the least hostile. There was almost no militia at all, the residents relying on the gods or providence or blind luck to carry them through various calamities. It was a pathetic target for any would-be looter or pillager.

Hiccup cringed. Yes, that was him thinking like a Viking just then. Not what he was out here to do.

What _was_ he out here to do? Good question, really, though this particular trip was to get Astrid excited about the Mainland, to get her to share in the experience. But it wasn't turning out the way he hoped. The weather being uncooperative was a complication, but not the problem.

For him, the Mainland trips were a needed break from the village. Close to two years since his famous battle with Red Death, he hadn't quite come to terms with actually being _liked,_ or _needed_. If he wasn't being routinely asked to help would-be dragon riders stay in their saddles for longer than ten seconds, then he was convincing Monstrous Nightmares to carry buckets for the Bucket Brigade or teaching Terrors to pursue rats instead of fish. Atop of that, he was updating the Dragon Manual so that it didn't focus so much on killing every dragon that ever lived and the not-so-subtle lessons from his dad concerning tribal leadership.

Tribal leadership. Now there was a daunting thought, and one he absolutely didn't want to think about.

In the past, he could slip away to some remote part of the island to do some tinkering or planning or daydreaming if he couldn't come up with anything to tinker with. But now there was nowhere to hide. One quick pass by a local dragon rider and somebody would report back his location and someone would come find him with a request or a plea and Hiccup-time was over.

It was getting to be a bit much. After a lifetime of soloing, mostly out of necessity rather than preference, he found that he desired _some_ solitude after all. The almost unreal level of attention the village gave him now was stifling.

So after a surprisingly agreeable discussion with his father, Hiccup hatched a plan that would allow him to act in the village interests while getting some needed solitude.

The Mainland.

Remarkably enough, the people of Berk knew precious little about the Mainland. Three hundred years of chronic warfare against dragonkind had made the Vikings expert about dragons… and not much else. Their economy was largely self-contained and they rarely did that thing Vikings were known for – the whole looting thing. They didn't know anything about what villages or kingdoms lay to the south. And with the war over and the potential for things like expansion and trade on the table for the first time in forever, it couldn't hurt to know a few things about their neighbors.

Hiccup already knew that if he couldn't bring himself to kill dragons, he _definitely _couldn't kill other humans. So why not try something new? How about trying peaceful coexistence for a change? But to do that, he needed information. Since a Viking longboat scouting the waters of the Mainland would not be well received, a stealthy scout dragon was in order.

There, Hiccup hit his first obstacle. Something that nobody, not even him, had ever considered before. It was the answer to this question: why didn't the dragon colony just up and leave the area instead of fighting Vikings all the time and remaining enslaved to a giant dragon-monster?

Answer: they have stubbornness issues. If they find a place with food, warmth, and shelter, they don't want to leave it. They might range dozens of miles away, but they had a limit. Once they hit that range limit, they become agitated and uncooperative, always trying to turn back to their "nest". After Red Death's demise, the local dragon colony had shifted its nest from the volcano island to Berk, but the range limits merely shifted with them.

Part of the new deal he had with his father was that he had to train some other dragon riders for scouting duties, since there was a lot of coastline and one dragon wouldn't cut it. So far, Hiccup's attempts to train a scouting crew were meeting with this territory problem. Toothless was the only dragon that could be relied on to not panic when the range limit was hit. Either Night Furies didn't have that problem, or Toothless considered his "nest" to be wherever Hiccup went. Time and more training might solve the problem with the rest of the Berk dragons, but for now Toothless was the village's resident scout.

With Astrid agreeing to come see the Mainland, Hiccup was feeling vindicated for having spent the effort transforming his saddle harness into a two-seater configuration. Yes, there had been… motives behind the design change (chiefly Astrid and romantic flights and such), but some of them were actually practical. The biggest one was the fact that Hiccup and Toothless were traveling farther and farther away these days, well beyond the naval patrol routes of Berk. On his own, without any support, Hiccup had to rely on Toothless and his aerial stunt skills to escape threats, and Toothless had some truly insane maneuvers that would toss anyone not strapped into a harness. If he brought someone with him, such as on this day, he needed to know they'd be safely tethered to Toothless. Not to mention that arms and legs got tired after hours of flight time and a harness helped alleviate stressed joints.

Toothless liked the long journeys. For a dragon, flight time was happy time. He wasn't so much a fan of the hiding, though. He was back at their landing zone staying out of sight, as he had on other occasions, and their harnesses had been left clipped to Toothless's saddle. Hiccup had been to enough Mainland villages to realize that dragons weren't welcome. The only difference in reactions Hiccup had noticed between Mainlanders and Vikings was that where the Vikings of Berk used to run toward the beasts, the coastal villagers ran the opposite direction.

But it wasn't the dragons that had the Mainland Coast constantly in a tizzy. According to the villagers, dragons were rare and never showed up in great numbers. No, the villagers had a much bigger concern. Hiccup had recorded a few of the choicest comments about this "bigger concern" in his journal:

"Murderous cutthroats, all of them. They'll slice off your nose if they think it's too long."

Or:

"Smelly, hairy, and uncivilized. You're better off telling a forest fire to stop burning than to deal with a Viking."

And Hiccup's personal favorite:

"Extremely dangerous. Kill on sight."

Vikings were to the Mainland what dragons used to be for the Vikings. The irony was not lost on Hiccup.

"It's not happening, Hiccup," said Astrid, still as sour as before.

Her words jogged Hiccup from his ruminations, forcing a quiet sigh from his lips. The sea fog was just too thick. Guess it was too much to ask for one thing to go right today.

"All right," said Hiccup. "There are a few spots to the west that might be less foggy. If you'll stick it out with me… Astrid?"

If she'd heard him, she wasn't showing it. Her eyes were fixed on a group of four burly-looking men passing by, some of them holding sharp farming implements. Their faces held an array of reactions, none of them positive. Astrid wasn't averting her gaze this time. Under Hiccup's advice, she had been avoiding eye contact. But she was clearly fed up and this time she shot back an angry glare.

One of the men slowed and then stopped, his reaction growing angrier. He had a scythe in his hands with a curved blade as long as his arm, and he gripped it tighter as the staring contest continued. The other men stopped and watched, perhaps waiting for something to happen.

"O-kay, time to go," said Hiccup, grabbing Astrid by the arm and dragging her away. The sudden lurch broke off her gaze, where it then settled on Hiccup. Ignoring her, he kept awaiting some harsh word or comment from behind him that would set off Astrid. Hiccup couldn't have done anything if that happened. The only reason he was leading her away was because she was allowing it.

Thankfully, nothing happened, Astrid shrugging off Hiccup's hold once they were a safe distance from the group. Hiccup anticipated an unkind word in his direction or maybe a punch to the shoulder as his reward for preventing a fight, but after a second of angry glaring she merely shook her head and stormed off in the direction of Toothless.

No, this had definitely not gone according to plan. It was a good thing Astrid had left her double-bladed axe back with Toothless or things might have gotten ugly.

The two of them walked wordlessly for a time until they had passed the last of the village homes with no further incidents to report. They were about to move up a forest trail that led more or less directly to Toothless when Astrid abruptly stopped in her tracks. Hiccup was caught off-guard by her sudden halt and had to whirl around to face her.

"Astrid?"

She wasn't angry now, at least not purely angry. Some sadness was tingeing her eyes as well, which she kept focused on the ground. "I don't think I've ever felt that before. They just… they hated me."

"Astrid, it wasn't personal," said Hiccup. "I wouldn't even call it hate. They're just… uncomfortable…"

"Uncomfortable? No, that was hate, Hiccup." The sad part of her had fallen away. There was nothing but Mad Astrid now as she looked back toward the village. "Bunch of weak people judging me. And for what? Because I don't dress up all girly? Because I could probably break any of those guys' arms in two moves? Because I know how to stand tall when a dragon goes after my village's sheep while they cower in their hovels?"

"That may be part of it, yeah," said Hiccup.

"Are you defending them?" said Astrid, turning her irate eyes back on Hiccup.

"Never," said Hiccup. "But considering what they've been through, what they're still going through, maybe you can understand why they react like they do."

Once upon a time, there were real reasons to fear dragons in Berk. But there were still real reasons for the Mainlanders to fear Vikings. While Berk had had other priorities for three centuries, other clans and tribes in the area had continued to make life miserable for non-Vikings. Hiccup had known this going into his Mainland forays; he thought Astrid had as well. But it was hard to be sympathetic with jerks, regardless of their plight.

"I don't have to understand, Hiccup," said Astrid, managing to calm her voice slightly but still plenty irate. "Why should I even care about them, Hiccup? We don't need to befriend them, or come to their aid, or whatever you think we need to do. I mean, look at them. They can barely hold their village together, and they think they can judge me? I get why they don't have a problem with _you_, since you blend in so well with them, but…"

Astrid stopped in mid-sentence, the anger leaching out of her. She'd just heard her own words, and she hadn't liked them one bit.

"I… Wow, that just kind of popped out," she said, looking rather chagrined all of a sudden. "Hiccup, I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," he replied, a light smile on his face. To be honest, he wasn't upset. It was almost a relief to hear a little bit of the old Astrid come out. It was hard to erase years of ingrained behavior, hard to rewrite the roles they'd played out through their early childhood. The fact that she struggled with it as well made his own struggles feel less abnormal.

"Of course, it's also true," said Hiccup, deciding to throw in a little self-depreciating humor to lighten the mood. "Mr. Non-Viking Viking here. It's the only way I could walk around these villages and get straight answers without getting pitchforked."

But Astrid wasn't laughing. "That's the thing, Hiccup. It's not true. You _aren't_ like them. You don't judge others like they do, or like we do. Even after… even when you probably have a right to do so, you don't. The fact that you're out here, trying to smooth out centuries of conflict… _That's_ who you are."

Warming words, indeed. Yet Hiccup wasn't all that thrilled with them. Not because there was a problem with the meaning beneath them or that he didn't like hearing them. But because it was more of the same thing he'd heard off and on over the last two years. If he had notched his metal leg ever time someone in the village effectively _apologized_ for their treatment of him in the past, his leg would have been reduced to metal shavings by now.

He hadn't minded it at first, but now he wanted to move beyond it and say, "We're all good here." Sometimes he wondered if it wasn't really about him, but some combination of jitters and apoplexy shared throughout the village. Things _had_ changed a lot, and some people feared that it could easily slip back into the old ways, that dragons and humans couldn't truly coexist and that one would be eating the other before long. Others feared where it would all lead, and sadly there were some legit reasons for that thinking.

Whatever the case, he was now the go-to guy on dragons, and they wanted to make sure he was happy. Some of them tried a little too hard.

Not Astrid, though. She still called him on his more stupid moments, still dented his shoulder when she was particularly disapproving. She was the one he asked first when he needed honest advice, the only one he wanted to come with him to the Mainland after he determined it was relatively safe.

She'd grown up more, as everyone had, though she still went out in public dressed to cleave someone's head off at a moment's notice. But she was still the fierce Astrid, still the capable Astrid… and more beautiful than ever.

And now she was apologizing.

Maybe it explained why things never quite got further with them than an occasional kiss. Maybe things weren't quite settled yet. Maybe there was still guilt over their past interactions.

Ugh. Why did he have to start thinking? That never did him any good.

He self-consciously felt up his face. Yeah, that stubble of his was still taking its sweet time. Did he need yet another reminder of his physical failings? He hoped to be at least _taller _than Astrid by the time his growth spurts finalized.

"So… we didn't kill anyone today," said Hiccup, desperately trying to inject some humor. "Something went right."

There was finally a smile on Astrid's face again. "Well, your choice of village left something to be desired, but some of this is pretty nice. I've never been to the Mainland before, never been this far away from home."

"Plenty of coast to fly over," he added. "We can find a quiet place without any angry villagers."

"Maybe," she said lightly. "Then again, after dealing with those village idiots I could go for some action."

As Astrid finished speaking, a low rumble began to echo through the trees, vibrating both in the air and in the ground and causing the water in nearby puddles to shimmer. It was impossible to determine direction, even as the rumble intensified and shook the spring mounting in Hiccup's metal leg. Hiccup's and Astrid's smiles dropped away as frantic shouting began to spring up behind them, from the village they had so eagerly left.

As the two of them turned to look, a resounding crash erupted from the village. While evergreen trees and other homes obscured most of the damage, the misty air above the village now had a fair amount of fragments flying around and sprinkling down on the frightened heads of the villagers. Another crash joined the first, and another shower of debris occurred.

Hiccup and Astrid exchanged concerned looks. Yes, something was going down in the village. No, they had no obligation to help the villagers.

Yes, they were going there anyway.

"Toothless, you better be paying attention," muttered Hiccup as he ran after Astrid toward the suddenly-exploding village.

* * *

><p>Toothless was always paying attention, mostly because he always had to be paying attention.<p>

The black dragon was currently bored out of its skull and not very comfortable, having done everything it could to follow the traveling bands of sunlight that arrived now and then to warm its scales. But the day had progressed too far and the sunshine had vanished altogether, leaving the dragon curled up alone upon a barren patch of dirt ringed by a thick field of wild grass.

A good spot to hide, but it had no other redeeming qualities. And Toothless was too hyped up to sleep away the day.

Night Furies knew about stealth and secrecy. They lived the life of the hidden hunter in the wild. You couldn't even detect one at night unless it chose to make its presence known. Toothless understood that the humans outside of its "nest" weren't friendly, so a low profile was required. It was a tradeoff for the chance at long flights over the ocean, feeling the constant breeze flow over its body and the sensation of freedom that it enjoyed so much.

But it didn't make the waiting any less irritating. There were occasionally interesting things to occupy the dragon's time, like watching ants build a mound or a squirrel running around in the trees, but the dragon was only truly at ease, truly happy, when it was airborne.

So it had its ears perked, hoping that the next sound it heard was the tiny footfalls of his human, hoping his boredom would soon end and he'd be touching the skyline once again.

Thus, he picked up the crashing sounds fairly soon after they began, his head raised and his ears pivoted to discern direction. He wasn't sure what to make of it – most of the noise was unfamiliar, though it sounded destructive in nature. It came from down the hillside, toward the coast, which was where Hiccup and the other human, Astrid, had gone. His concern grew, as did his uncertainty on whether to act or not. The last time it had broken cover and gone to the rescue, things had not gone well. Besides, he had yet to hear Hiccup's voice anywhere near the disturbing noises, so…

Then a familiar voice did pop up. Faint, barely understandable, but close to the destructive noises.

Too close.

A growl escaping from between his now-extended teeth, Toothless launched out of his hiding spot, strong legs and powerful wings propelling him in a series of glide-leaps through the forest, over low trees and sudden drops. His one thought: make sure his humans were okay.

And woe to whatever was trying to make them not okay.

* * *

><p>"Okay, this is new."<p>

Hiccup's observation was perhaps unnecessary to state, but it rather encapsulated the feeling of the moment when he and Astrid rounded a nearby village hovel and saw a man riding and wrestling with, by all appearances, an oversized bull made of nothing but metallic-looking bones.

In the middle of the village circle that was already a mess of debris from several homes that had been smashed or altogether flattened, a creature with the basic shape of a bull was gyrating and bucking with wild abandon, its rear legs kicking out furiously. Hiccup recognized the animal type only from an old history book that, remarkably, had nothing to do with dragons. Evidently, Berk's distant ancestors were far more traditional and had done raids that included stealing livestock. Cattle were the most common type and the male of the species was known as a bull. Lots of meat on a bull, but a small island like Berk just couldn't sustain a cattle population, so they'd stuck with sheep.

Well, this thing might have resembled a bull, might even be acting like one for all Hiccup knew, but it was eight times the size it should have been and had no meat. Where skin, flesh, and organs should have been was only a skeleton composed of bones that shined like polished steel in the defused sunlight. Not just the bones, but also the metal struts that lined its limbs, spine, and ribcage. It had no tail, but it had all four legs and a bovine skull in front with not just one, but two sets of horns. The second set was attached underneath the jawbone, adding to the surreal nature of the thing.

It didn't look like it had been born. It looked like it had been built. It should have been immobile, perched in front of a blacksmith shop as creative artwork. It had no reason to be moving.

Most of the villagers were running around in a blind panic, some getting as far from the rampaging beast as they could while others stood in terror near their homes or at some distance from the scene, unable to take action… much like what Hiccup and Astrid were doing at the moment. The "skele-bull" (for lack of a better term) had already careened into another house as they watched, effortlessly smashing away an entire wall and forcing a couple and their three children to run screaming from the house.

No one seemed hurt, thank the Gods. But if this kept up, that was likely to change. And the first casualty was likely going to be the man currently clinging to the front of the skele-bull's head, his arms and legs gripping the skull bone for dear life. Wide-eyed and yelping, he was still managing to hold on through the wild bucking and head shaking.

"What's that idiot doing?" said Astrid, pointing at the clinging villager.

"I… I think he's blinding it," replied Hiccup. "He's on top of that thing's eyes. It might be what's keeping the village in one piece."

"He's going to get really killed," commented Astrid. Then she ran off toward a hay wagon, leaving Hiccup temporarily alone as the spectacle continued. He trusted that she had an idea, because he had nothing.

The skele-bull danced closer to Hiccup's spot, allowing him a better look at the foolish bull-riding villager on its head. But as he looked on, something about the man changed Hiccup's impression of him. The man's clothes didn't match the local trends – his were dark gray, less baggy. His build was less intimidating than most of the village farm workers, and they were already half the size of your average Viking adult. And while he was yelling in tandem with the bucking metal monster, he didn't seem terrified. It reminded Hiccup of his dad's well-repeated wrestling sessions with Gronckles and Nadders – there was fear, always fear, but there was confidence as well.

Then, abruptly, the skele-bull stopped its bucking and lowered its head. The fight had gone out of it, the creature almost statue-like now. The man didn't relax his grip in the slightest, but he breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah, couldn't buck me off that easily, could you?" he said in a tired tone.

The horns moved. Instead of acting like the solid pointed pieces of bone they should have been, they flowed like liquid and wrapped around the man's torso and legs like tendrils. All four of them together, binding the man to the skele-bull's head.

Alarmed, the man tried to break free. But the horns were solid once more and he was stuck tight.

The beast then charged out at a frightening sprint, the man yelping as the beast ran head-first into a thick pine, splinting it in one hit and toppling the top part down to the ground. Hiccup cringed with the horrendous crunch – there was no way anyone could have survived that impact.

"Okay, that's just cheating," came the dazed-but-still-alive reply from the trapped rider. He remained on the beast's head, still trapped but still in one piece.

Hiccup was dumbfounded. He'd known Vikings to take blows like that in the past and need replacement limbs afterwards… if they were lucky.

The beast swung around and charged the opposite direction, scattering a small group of villagers and ramming the village's local mill, right at the stone base. The thud that time was like thunder, accompanied by a strange, barely-visible orange flash that coincided with the impact. Cracks in the granite spread out from the impact site like snakes fleeing their burrow.

"Ulp! You don't have brain, how you so smart?" came the severely disoriented response from the man, who was still alive as the creature backed off from the busted mill. The skele-bull's horns snapped back to their original position, followed by the man's body slipping off of the beast's head and landing prone on the ground below it, motionless.

The skele-bull wasn't done yet. Its eyes free of obstruction and glowing with an ominously piercing yellow hue, the dual-set horns shifted slightly, angling their points together for one unified thrust. Then the beast reared back on its legs as it prepared to gore the helpless man on the ground.

A pitchfork sailed through the air and collided with its bony head, bouncing off and doing absolutely no damage whatsoever but diverting the creature's attention enough to save the man's life, its head turning to its newest attacker.

Hiccup turned to Astrid, standing next to the hay wagon she had run towards. Having clearly tossed the farming tool, she now had another one in her hand at the ready.

"That was your plan?" he yelled. "Throw a pitchfork?"

Astrid shrugged helplessly. "If I had my axe, I'd have thrown that instead."

"We're dead," muttered Hiccup.

The only good news was that the skele-bull was no longer interested in the downed man. But it was greatly interested in Astrid now, and with no fanfare it sighted up on her and charged.

"Astrid!" screamed Hiccup, too far away to do anything but yell. Astrid ran to the side and somersaulted away from the charge, the skele-bull missing her by inches. She was back on her feet in moments, but the beast was already turning around and coming at her again with unholy speed and precision. Hiccup didn't think she had the time to dodge it again.

He ran forward, waving his hands, yelling at the charging metal creature, hoping something, anything, would divert its course. His heart lurched to a halt as the beast ignored him and sped on, targeting Astrid.

But then villagers were screaming all around him suddenly, some at the scene unfolding in front of Hiccup… and some at something behind Hiccup. Without looking, Hiccup knew what had just happened and his heart managed to start beating again.

Coming from behind him, three blue bolts of fire sailed over his head and slammed into the side of the skele-bull in rapid succession, one directly hitting the beast's front-right leg and slagging it. Fire erupted across the skele-bull's flanks, smoke and tiny pieces of metal spraying out in large plumes. In mid-charge, the creature toppled onto its side and skidded a fair distance, Astrid rolling out of the way from the smoldering beast as it came to rest and did not rise again.

Not missing a beat, Toothless ran forward toward the downed metal monster, growling a warning and tensing for more hostility. A few tense seconds passed as the smoke cleared, the shiny metal beast not rising to the challenge but seemingly down and dead. No motion from any limb or horn could be seen.

Back on her feet, Astrid ran around the downed monster and up to Toothless, giving him a grateful hug that he seemed to enjoy. Hiccup walked up next to him, patting him on the head and sighing with clear relief.

"Great timing, buddy," he said. Toothless waggled his head as if to say, _I know._

However, the surrounding villagers did not share the relief Hiccup felt, all of whom were keeping their distance and acting like another skele-bull had just shown up. It wasn't going to help matters that he and Astrid looked like they were paling around with a dragon… which they were.

"I think it's safe to say that we won't be welcome back here," commented Hiccup.

"Breaks my heart," put in Astrid, heavy on the sarcasm. She then stared at the burning skele-bull and shook her head in helpless confusion. "What is that thing?"

"Not dead," came a weak voice from off to the side. Hiccup's eyes went wide when he realized he had almost forgotten about the downed bull-rider with the inhuman constitution.

He walked over to the prone man, who was already turning himself over and attempting to sit up on the muddy ground. Kneeling down, Hiccup tried to play field medic by saying, "Take it easy, pal. You almost got powdered."

The man smiled weakly. "Thanks, but I mostly got the wind knocked out of me… a lot of wind, mind you, but still, only wind."

Up close, it was crystal clear that the man wasn't one of the villagers. His skin color was tanner than everyone else's, though not dark. Not to mention that in a village where every boy and man had a beard (lucky jerks that they were) this guy was almost hairless. His head had the smallest of black mops, and he had at best three years of life on Hiccup.

No cuts, no bruises, and not even any wear and tear on his clothes outside of some mud splashes. _That _was almost as unreal as the skele-bull itself.

"I am grateful for the assistance of your dragon," said the man, regaining his footing. He cringed as he looked at the skele-bull's horn array. "Bet those horns would have done me in."

"But not all the smashing?" said Hiccup.

"Ah… yeah, that," said the man, looking rather uncertain. "Well, first things first. Formal introduction. Nestor." He held his hand in greeting.

Despite the mystery surrounding the guy, Hiccup didn't feel any threat from him. He certainly didn't have any reason to be unfriendly, and he took Nestor's hand. "Hiccup."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me to hiccup?"

"Oh… No, no, Hiccup is…" He pointed back at himself.

"Ah… Really?" Nestor made a lop-sided grin, and then tried to suppress it. "Um, yes, very good, strong name. Don't mind me; I'm a little rattled still."

Hiccup wasn't fooled, but he did appreciate the effort. Most people didn't bother to hide their amusement.

"West or East Norse?" said Nestor. "Still practicing dialects, but there may be translation problems."

"Uh… I understand you fine, so whatever works."

Quick introductions were made to Toothless and Astrid. Nestor seemed rather intrigued with Toothless in particular. The dragon cocked his head at Nestor, seemingly okay with him, while Astrid had the same quizzical look that Hiccup knew was on his own face.

"A saddle on a dragon?" said Nestor. "Didn't think you could do that."

"You're familiar with them?" asked Hiccup.

"A species or two," said Nestor. "No offense, but you three don't strike me as local."

"Neither do you," said Astrid. "And how did you…?"

"Sorry, explanations later," said Nestor, cutting her off. "We're running out of time, and I think the natives are starting to get miffed." He gestured to the scattered villagers around them, some of who were beginning to gather in larger groups and whose voices were sounded less and less civil by the second.

"I don't think these guys will mess with us with Toothless present," said Hiccup.

"The villagers are a complication, not the problem," said Nestor, who was now swiveling his head around and clearly looking for something. "Any of you see a… Ah!"

Nestor ran over to an object sticking out of a pile of rubble and managed to free it. Resembling a leather satchel about the size of a large tome, Nestor inspected it for damage and proceeded to strap it to his back without looking inside it or offering an explanation. He did seem rather relieved to have found it, though.

Astrid looked at Hiccup and said, "We've run into the middle of something, and I don't think we want to get involved further."

Hiccup agreed with the first part, not so much the second. Call it his predilection for not leaving things alone, but the more Nestor danced about, teasing him with mysteries little and big, the more intrigued he became. As if the skele-bull wasn't enough of an incentive to…

A chorus of shrieks near the body of the skele-bull forced Hiccup and the others to turn their attention that direction. A group of villagers were backing away in terror as the beast's remaining front leg twitched once, twice, stopped, and then jerked several more times before halting again. Other legs began to follow suit, which only heightened the growing panic amongst the gathered villagers.

Toothless reared his back and menaced the skele-bull with a threatening growl. Hiccup patted him. "Easy, bud. Too many people around for more fireworks."

"Not dead," said Nestor, walking carefully to the front of the skele-bull, where its head could be seen twitching along the framework neckline. "Your dragon's fire hurt it, but it can pull itself back together with time. Only way to stop it permanently is to remove the powercore."

"The what now?" said Astrid.

"Even things that aren't alive have hearts," said Nestor, putting his hands of the beast's smooth, bone-like skull and feeling it over. "Though in this thing's case, the heart is in the head. Talk about shoddy planning."

"Can you get to it?" said Hiccup, deciding to go along with this for now and not bother with the hundreds of questions in his head. "You know, before it wakes up and kills us?"

"I was hoping to take the powercore intact," said Nestor, grabbing the skull with both hands as if he meant to yank it off then and there. "But I can't let this thing get back on its feet. Arc's going to be upset, but nothing new there."

Hiccup wasn't sure if he could take any more surprises today, but he found room for one more as Nestor's arms began to glow a pale orange, enveloping his hands and forearms and then crawling up to his shoulder blades. Gritting his teeth, Nestor began to pull on the skull, his fingertips digging into the metal surface like it was clay. Metal strained against metal as part of the skull broke free of its mooring, Nestor twisting the head to the right to work on the remaining weak point.

The crowd quieted down as they watched Nestor attempt to rip the skele-bull's head from its body. The monster's legs slowed their twitching. The mist overhead seemed to suck in the sound and cut off the village from the rest of the world as the surreal and unreal played out under it. All Hiccup could do was helplessly wonder how long it would be before the next instance of craziness occurred today.

As it turned out, he only had to wait five seconds – when the house behind him exploded.


	3. One Step Ahead Of Disaster

**Chapter Two: One Step Ahead of Disaster**

Toothless's natural reaction to anything going boom within Hiccup's proximity was to act as a living shield, since his scaly fireproof skin made him damage resistant. This instinctive act saved Hiccup and Astrid from the flaming debris that pelted the rest of the village, though the concussive force of the explosion knocked everyone within twenty feet of the blast off their feet.

Nestor fell away from skele-bull and scrambled to his feet, his task unfinished. Hiccup and Astrid had to push Toothless off them before they could stand up, so protective Toothless had become. Even after they cleared the dragon's bulk, Toothless stood between them and the burning house, his face as grim as a dragon could get.

Hiccup thought he understood his dragon friend's reaction, now that he could see the remains of the house. Not that it resembled a house so much as four ignited walls of burning wood and straw. Normally such a sight wouldn't even faze him, owing to Berk's fiery history, but there was one rather crucial difference here.

The flames were black.

Not red, not even blue, but jet-black.

Secondary fires around the destroyed home were burning orange and red, but the central fire, the one that gutted the domicile, did its dirty work under a far darker color. It made about as much sense as anything else today, but it somehow came off far worse than the other unpleasant surprises visited upon Hiccup in the last hour.

Looking back at Nestor, he hoped that this time the man had an explanation ready to go. But Nestor's eyes were wide and horrified this time. A man barely disturbed by a skele-bull was terrified of this new development.

Hiccup decided the explanations could slide this time out.

"Out of time," said Nestor, directing his statement at Hiccup. "You three need to leave."

Astrid, as equally disturbed as Hiccup if her face was any indication, said, "I think that's good advice, Hiccup."

The mist-covered sky right above the village grew dark all at once. Knowing he wasn't going to like what he saw, Hiccup looked up along with the others and spotted a gigantic murky shadow through the fog. It was blocking the sun, something indistinct and yet insidious-looking at the same time. He couldn't judge how big it was or how close it was, or anything else for that matter, but he could guess that this was something he didn't want hanging over his head.

There was an angry hiss that filled the air briefly, like a thousand kettles boiling over in unison. Then down a ways, another house exploded into gouts of black flame, sending what few villagers still remained in the village circle screaming for the forest.

"Leave!" pleaded Nestor. "I can't do anything against this one!"

"Hiccup!" said Astrid, throwing his flight harness at him in the hopes of getting his attention. "We need to…"

"Yeah, yeah, leaving!" Hiccup took the harness and began to strap it on. Astrid was already donning her own specialized harness while Toothless stared up at the sky, not growling but silently daring the shadow to come closer.

Another explosion of black erupted on the other side of the downed skele-bull, consuming several trees outright. The skele-bull itself was beginning to jitter more, as if coming awake. Nestor groaned as he looked at it. His efforts to permanently dismantle it hadn't worked, and while the thing's neck hung at an awkward angle it didn't act bothered by the neck readjustment at all.

"That's all I need," said Nestor. He looked back at Hiccup with resignation in his eyes. "I'm sorry for getting you all into this. I will delay things as best as I…"

Another explosion interrupted him, but this time the sound wasn't at ground level. More thunder than concussion, the newest blast had come from above. As the group turned their eyes skyward again, they spotted a second smaller shadow flitting past the larger one. It twisted, circled the larger shadow once more, and then darted away at a good clip. More thunder erupted above them, and moments later the hovering shadow moved away, more or less in the direction of the smaller shadow.

As the day brightened around them, Nestor regained some of his confidence, or at least some serious relief. In a brighter tone, he said, "I think we have a chance now. Take this opportunity and go."

He began to backpedal, moving past the rousing skele-bull that was even now attempting to stand on only three legs. Huge chunks of its skeleton were missing and smoke wisped off its wounded sections, but none of that mattered to the metal beast as it began to take a few hobbling steps.

Hiccup and Astrid were fully strapped in on top of Toothless and ready to go, yet Hiccup didn't give the order to fly. Instead, he took one last look at Nestor and said, "Are you going to be alright?"

Nestor shrugged as he continued to back up towards the western trail that led out of the village. "I have to lure the beast out of this village. Shouldn't be too hard, as I have what it wants. Not looking forward to what happens after, though." He then made a little pained smile and said, "If the Fates are kind… Ulp!"

That last part was due to the skele-bull's sudden charge. Even with three legs, it could move insanely well. Then again, so could Nestor, who sprinted off with the monster in hot pursuit. Hiccup swore he saw Nestor's boots glow orange as he sped away, much like how his arms had glowed during his failed attempt to sever the skele-bull's head.

Very briefly, Hiccup thought about pursing. He didn't want to leave Nestor at the mercy of that thing. But he had Toothless and Astrid to think about as well, what with something massive hanging over their heads. And ultimately, he was too much out of his element to be much help.

For now, it was time to go.

* * *

><p>Hiccup had conjured up a lot of images to go with the monstrous shadow that lay in wait above the fog. Everything from a flying troll-giant that wanted to burn all left socks to another Red Death that was seeking revenge for the death of its brethren. He was really hoping to be wrong on every count.<p>

Well, he was. That didn't make it any better.

The three of them broke through the low-flying mist and into bright daylight. This was, in fact, the kind of view Hiccup had been hoping to show Astrid before the day went to rot. Rolling fields of white moving through patches of spiky green forest with a light-blue sky above them. A lazy sun warming their skin as the wind swept past them. The sea stretching out into infinity, where it met the sky and merged into one all-encompassing horizon.

That was all great, but the abhorrent _thing_ floating in the sky not all that far away ruined it.

Hiccup felt Astrid's arms tighten reflexively around his waist as she gasped in his ear. He gasped as well upon seeing the mass of bones hovering over the clouds, wingless, scoffing at gravity as if it was beneath its contempt. Bleached-white bones of every size and shape adorned the oval center, bones that had to belong to hundreds, if not thousands, of once-living creatures. It was nothing _but_ bones, a flying pile of them stuck together and given a semblance of life.

Attached to the main body was a quartet of waving skeleton heads, connected by long necks filled with a mishmash of alien vertebrate. The heads themselves were giant, composite creations made from bone plates and shaped into horrific fanged images. They had some dragonoid qualities, but they were too distorted and wicked looking to have ever come from a real dragon.

The _thing_ had to be the size of four or five Viking longboats lashed together, not as big as Red Death but still quite intimidating. None of the heads were turned their direction; they had another target, and they let loose torrents of black flame from their mouths into the sky with wild abandon. The unnatural fire sucked the very sunlight from the air as it passed by, though it eventually petered out after traveling a few hundred feet from the abomination.

Their target was another dragon.

Hiccup was so used to seeing dragons with riders attached that he sometimes forgot that, yes, most dragons don't let humans come along for the ride. This dragon was rider-less, spinning and dodging ferociously to stay ahead of the black fire blasts. It had to fly defensively, considering it had four monstrous heads firing at it constantly.

Despite his internal warning about getting nearer to the airborne altercation, Hiccup had Toothless drift closer to get a better look. Soon enough, he realized that this was a foreign dragon species to him. He knew the seven Berk species fairly well, knew about at least a dozen other ones that Vikings had encountered in their travels. But this one wasn't ringing any bells.

A lizard-like head was attached to a long snake-like neck connected to a massively powerful torso, all covered in forest-green scaled plating. Two sets of limbs on the torso, the front set articulated like a pair of human arms, though more clawed and scaly, while the rear set was larger. A pair of massive leathery wings was set along the mid-point of the torso. A prehensile tail covered in thorn-like spikes ended with a set of smaller wings – the traditional dragon aeronautic guidance system.

The dragon's face was too distant to make out. But it was being very quiet, not even roaring or grumbling as dragons often did in combat. Hard to judge from a distance, but the green dragon didn't look any bigger than a Nightmare, though it was longer and sleeker.

Hiccup also studied the bone abomination further (again, lacking a better name for it) and realized that it had several scorch marks on its surface. The dragon had gotten in a few hits, though it hadn't done much good. Much like the skele-bull, this thing didn't obey the usual rules covering the living, or even the laws of physics.

Were they related, this abomination and the skele-bull? They had to be. It wasn't like all the monsters of the Mainland were casually meeting at Tempest Point for a fish bake.

"Hiccup, can we stop getting _closer_ to the thing?" said Astrid.

"Yeah, sorry," he replied, and pulled Toothless into a turn that took them further from the battle. Toothless seemed resistant to moving off, possibly feeling a need to attack the abomination or help out a fellow dragon. But he didn't resist for long and allowed the turn to finish.

There were now on a north-northwest heading, taking them back to Berk. Below them the mist was receding as open sea flowed under them. They'd be away from the Mainland within minutes, out of the battle and in the clear.

And Hiccup was fighting the urge to turn around, an urge growing stronger with each passing second.

He didn't like war, hadn't liked it since realizing war required killing. But he never turned his back on a fight that had to happen.

The bone abomination was just plain _wrong._ One look could tell you that. It had bombarded an innocent village without thought or mercy. And that foreign dragon, whatever its reasons for fighting the abomination were, had probably saved their lives.

"We can't just leave, can we?"

Astrid's quiet words in his ear were a heartbeat ahead of his own. Hiccup turned his head and gave her a little smile. "No, we can't."

Hiccup felt Toothless's head wriggle underneath him, his way of showing agreement. It was nice to know there were all on the same page.

* * *

><p>Things were not looking good for the green dragon, and he knew it.<p>

His normally-pristine scales were covered with blackened scorch marks, the dragon's natural fire immunity useless against the mystical black fire. His scales still resisted some of the damage, but the dragon felt more and more cooked as the battle continued, pain flowing from his wounds and slowing his reactions down.

One wing limped slightly, singed by a glancing hit and throwing off the creature's aerial agility, making him take more and more hits from the never-ending barrage. He could no longer gain altitude in his weakened state, and he was doing his best just to maintain current altitude.

The black fire flowed through the sky, and the dragon was helpless against it. Surprise had been his one advantage, but it had not been enough. Escape might have been possible had the dragon not needed to keep the bone abomination distracted for as long as he could. Now, with one sore wing, he could not outrun his enemy.

He still had one last act to perform, something that would mean certain death, but which might also destroy the abomination as well. He hated the idea of self-sacrifice, not after all these years, not with so much left to do. But it was better than being defeated, better than just _dying_. And who knows? Maybe it would be enough.

He just needed to get a little closer, to resist one last scorching gout of black fire, to enact one final surprise.

But he never got there, because some other flying reptile beat him to the surprise.

He had seen the black dragon in the distance before and hadn't really thought much of it. He'd abandoned the concept of dragon kinship a long time ago. They weren't about to come to his aid, and vice versa. So he was given a rare moment of surprise when the black dragon returned and raked the abomination from end to end with blue bolts of dragon fire. It was a very good shot, blasting away the neck of one of the heads so that it fell free and plummeted to the earth, still letting fly one last shot of black flame as it dropped.

The abomination twisted its heads in knots in its attempt to roast this new adversary, but the black dragon was already streaming away. That left the abomination vulnerable from a different angle, and the green dragon did not waste the opportunity.

Calling from within a reserve of energy, he reached out his claws and let loose the lightning. Accompanied by booming thunder that reverberated through the sky, arc after arc of blue electricity connected with the abomination at the base of another head, burning and frying. The fifth consecutive blast tore enough corrupted bone away to sever the neck, and a second head fell to its ruin.

The abomination focused its attention on him again, only to be greeted with another volley of fire from the black dragon. Then it was the green dragon's turn once more, and another head was destroyed.

Coming around for another pass, the black dragon fired off another merciless barrage. After that, the abomination had had more than enough. Aflame in a dozen places, headless, and spinning out of control, it fell from the sky like a falling snowball disintegrating in the sun. The force that had held it together had taken too much damage and was collapsing, bones raining down into the waiting ocean.

The dragon watched as the abomination crashed into the sea, sending small waves against the nearby shore and marring the purity of the water with its vile corruption. Within hours, there would be nothing remaining of the abomination, its components withering to dust as the corruption faded. But its impact would linger for some time.

And its creator remained.

The green dragon was curious now as the black dragon soared by once more. The green dragon hovered in place, gradually losing height due to his wounded wing but otherwise in no danger, and watched the black dragon swoop around in an approximation of a victory lap. Then the dragon realized that his black ally had company.

Two humans, riding it like a horse.

Where was the dignity?

The humans waved to him. Friendly sorts, at least. If he had the time, he might have followed up on this encounter. But he had too much to do.

He did the only thing he could think of. He nodded, politely acknowledging them. Weirdly, this seemed to confuse the humans for some reason, but the dragon didn't have time to analyze the matter further.

Going into a nosedive, the green dragon fled toward the ground and toward the coast. To ensure he wasn't going to be followed, he closed his eyes and channeled some of his energy along his scaly hide. Bending light around him was old hat, but it was still the best trick in his arsenal. To any outside observer, it was as if he had just disappeared in midair.

It wasn't a polite way to end things, but he simply had too much to do.

* * *

><p>No more running.<p>

Nestor was no stranger to running. The last four years of his life was largely one big marathon, almost as literally as it was metaphorically. So he was used to running, good at it. If he wasn't running away from something, he was running toward it.

Never a moment of rest. Never a breather. Always one step ahead of disaster.

He had outdistanced the skele-bull by about half-a-mile, but only because it was still in bad shape. Down one leg and nursing a crooked neck, it had trouble on the curved parts of the trail and fell over at least twice thanks to the road's poor condition. Any sane animal would have given up and gone off to lick its wounds. But this thing was neither sane nor an animal.

It wanted what he'd taken. It wouldn't stop until it got it back. That was its only purpose.

Breathing hard but not winded, Nestor waited at a curve in the trail, the gradient heavily sloped and the ground slick with mud and wet grass. A copse of thin trees guarded his back, obscuring everything past them from view. The mist also helped to plug up the holes in the foliage.

He didn't think it mattered, hiding the skele-bull's final destination. The thing wanted him and he was presenting himself to it. Meat dangling over a spear pit. But it wasn't stupid, unfortunately, and Nestor wasn't in the mood to get shown up twice in one day.

Especially since being wrong this time probably meant dying.

The ground began to shudder from the approaching war machine. It was not a subtle thing, the skele-bull. His teeth vibrated as the unseen menace closed the distance.

The problem with the plan was that as soon as the beast was in view, it'd be upon him in about three seconds. Not much time to act. But there was no better spot for this plan.

The vibrating had given way to shaking. It was almost here.

He once asked Arc what the secret to longevity was. Arc, not being the best at doling out sage advice, simply said, "Don't get in the way of things bigger than you." Not happy with how that piece of advice sounded, he added, "And if you have to, don't fight fair."

The skele-bull was visible, tearing down the trail and breaking outstretched branches into splinters. Nester could swear it put on speed as soon as it caught sight of him.

_Three._

He was always standing in front of things bigger than him.

_Two._

He didn't have much going for him…

_One._

… But he always had great timing.

It bore down on him, four spearing horns leading the way. It had no intention of stopping.

His outstretched arms glowing, the world slowing to a crawl as he grabbed the lower set of horns a moment before they found his chest and pushed down with every drop of power locked inside him. Against an intact skele-bull, it wouldn't have been enough. But this creature wasn't intact.

The horns plowed into the ground, the monster's neck bending down, catapulting and cart wheeling the beast head over heels, its torso smashing into the copse behind Nester, smashing through the copse and down the cliff they had concealed until now. Down to the ocean a hundred feet below, where craggy rocks stood like dagger points.

The beast twisted in mid-roll, its weakened neck snapping off. But one of its legs spun around by accident, catching Nester in the stomach and launching him over the cliff as well, the world glowing orange for a split-second and then fading back to horrible reality.

Had his barrier field not fired, as if had a hundred times before, the blow would have ended Nester then and there. But now he tumbled within a shower of metal and wood, accompanying a dying war machine down to the ocean, a falling distance too great to survive.

Disoriented by the blow, sickened by the feeling of freefall, luck was still with him for the moment. One of the falling trees jammed into a pair of heavy boulders on the cliff just below Nestor. He slammed into the tree a heartbeat later and had the presence of mind to grab hold before sliding off it.

He was dangling twenty feet off the cliff, his lifeline the damaged pine that he could hear straining and cracking from his weight. And there was still a threatening drop below him. Gritting his teeth, Nestor attempted to maneuver along the tree, but motion only made the tree crack further.

Holding still, hoping the Fate's Luck was still on his side, he watched the skele-bull finish its fall. It didn't even land, technically. With the powercore torn away, there was nothing keeping the ancient weapon in one piece. A burst of light, a series of small explosions, and the beast's form disintegrated into a million fragments of metal in midair.

He was about to join it very shortly.

Then the mist overhead distorted, waved and parted as a barely-discernable object flew into his line of sight. It was almost utterly transparent save for a slight ripple effect on the sides, and you wouldn't have known what you were looking at if you didn't know the shape behind the distortion.

It came up and hovered in front of Nestor, a flapping sound accompanying it. Though he couldn't read its face in the slightest, Nestor knew it was amused just the same. And despite his current peril, he couldn't help but smile as well.

"Great timing, old man," he said.

* * *

><p>The mist was finally letting up, though another batch was approaching fast from the east. The direct sun was managing to dispel some of the horror of the day, but it also made the damage that much easier to see.<p>

Hiccup, Toothless, and Astrid stood on a nearby hill overlooking what was left of Tempest Point, the shade from the nearby grove concealing them adequately. Astrid was ready to leave, content to know that the villagers were okay and that most of the village survived the battle intact. It was as much concern as she thought the villagers warranted, in truth, considering their earlier treatment of her and what they must think of them now.

Hiccup, however, was staring out at the village absently, watching the people stamp out the few remaining fires and pick at the myriad debris piles that used to be their homes. It was hard to read his face right now, but he was clearly taking this harder than she was. Toothless was patiently waiting to get airborne again, though he watched the sky with a wary alertness. Astrid couldn't blame him, not after today.

"We probably saved the village, you know," she said. "Not that they'll look at it that way, but it's still the truth. If you're blaming yourself…"

"No," replied Hiccup, shaking his head slightly. "I'm not blaming myself, but… it's ruined."

"The village? They'll rebuild."

"My mission, Astrid," elaborated Hiccup. "You know how stories spread. They'll tell other people in other villages about me, about us, about the evil black dragon that toasted their village, and then there'll be no chance of Berk getting in nice with them for another generation."

"These people had problems with Vikings long before we came around, Hiccup. You weren't going to fix it overnight."

"Yeah, but now there's no point in trying."

"I wouldn't say that. Besides, since when do you ever stop trying?"

Hiccup opened his mouth to say something but then quickly abandoned it and shrugged. Astrid smiled lightly – she knew him pretty well and he was smart enough not to argue with her about his tendencies.

He swiveled around on his metal leg to face her, though the look on his face indicated he wasn't all that cheered up. "You know what's worse? I feel like there's something important hanging over our heads now, and I have no idea what it is. It's like the Gods just swept through here and cleaned up every little insane thing we saw today. I'm glad you're here to back up my story, because when I try to explain this to everyone back home they're going to knock Gobber off his crazy-story pedestal and put me up there instead."

Astrid was also dismayed at how little evidence was left over from the day's battles. The abomination had sunk into the ocean. The skele-bull seemed to have done the same thing – they found another battle-site down the coast with a bunch of toppled trees pointing toward a sea cliff. Only metal fragments remained of the beast itself, Hiccup grabbing a few of the larger ones and stuffing them in his pockets.

Nestor and the green dragon were gone, along with any explanations they might have had. For all she knew, they were at the bottom of the sea as well… but she honestly doubted it.

"Okay, so we can now relate to Gobber more than before," said Astrid. "Why is this bothering you so much?"

He gave her an earnest look, his eyes serious and almost haunted. "Because I feel like… I feel like if we leave now, without knowing what all of this meant… then we're turning our back on all of it, and it's going to bite us in the rear someday. Something serious is going on, Astrid, and Berk isn't all that far away from it."

Astrid agreed to a degree, but she honestly couldn't bear the thought of lingering any longer to investigate and inviting more calamities to come their way. They'd had enough close shaves to fill a week's worth of dragon training, and she really didn't want to die away from her home.

She didn't say any of this, though. Instead, she gestured to the horizon and said, "Well, at least we have that view you wanted to show me. Some good came out of today."

The view was nice, in fact, the layered mist adding some color to the barren sea before them. If there wasn't a wasted village in the foreground, it might have been beautiful.

Hiccup snickered as he gazed out at the view. "Yeah, some good."

Astrid knew that Hiccup's intentions toward today's outing hadn't really been about intelligence gathering or showing the Mainland off to her. It felt like he'd been trying to recreate that one special ride atop Toothless, her first dragon ride. Add some wonder, some mystery, a pleasant view, maybe even a quiet spot with just the two of them, and it might have been special. And… she'd been looking forward to it, but not without hesitation.

She knew Hiccup was still adjusting to his newfound acclaim and role in Berk. She was happy for him some days, concerned for him on others, especially after he expressed his desire to explore the Mainland. She was concerned for herself, too.

All of her life, she idolized the warrior way, the trophies mounted on the walls of her home, the statues of Viking heroes in the Great Hall. Strength, perseverance, bravery – these were the tenants upon which she lived her life. The enemy was always the dragon, and she was going to make the enemy pay every time they dared disturb the airspace around Berk. Before she was felled in battle, she'd have earned enough accolades to merit a new statue in the Hall.

It was… simple. Her life was going to be hard, brutal, but simple.

And then Hiccup went and changed it all. Nothing was simple anymore.

You'd think someone like her would have been mad as hell about it. But most of the time it was better than before. There was less fear in her life, more excitement, and so many more possibilities for adventure and discovery. But after years of seeing things as black and white, after years of looking at Hiccup as an object of ridicule allowed to roam free only because his father was the chief, it was still hard to adjust.

That's where things got uneasy. All that old thinking still swum around in her brain. For all the respect she had for Hiccup, all the affection she felt for the one-legged dragon rider of Berk, there was fear in her whenever her thoughts went… further… than friendship.

Friendship? Of course. Hiccup was easy to be friends with once you stopped the judging. Past that? Fear crept in, something Astrid hated to admit she felt. Because to change her relationship with Hiccup _again_, to redefine her life when she wasn't done redefining it from the last major life-changing event… that was something she wasn't ready to deal with right now. And Hiccup might not want to admit it, but he wasn't ready for it either.

Still, she was disappointed about today. That much she could admit to herself, though not to Hiccup. Not yet.

"We should go get your axe," said Hiccup, motioning to Toothless and the saddle. "I do want to get back to Berk before nightfall. My celestial navigation leaves something to be desired."

Astrid nodded. Her axe was a family heirloom and she hadn't wanted to leave it behind, though before she hadn't wanted to risk further life and limb to recover it. Now, it wouldn't be a problem.

A while later, back in the air and sailing across the ocean once more behind Hiccup, she thought more about the insanity of the day. Though most of it was confusing and frightening, there were moments of heroics between total strangers that merited remembrance. If people, or even dragons, from diverse backgrounds and cultures were capable of coming to each other's aid, without obligation or even reward…

Well, that had to count for something.

* * *

><p>While Toothless left the Mainland under the cover of a new cloud of ocean mist, he didn't leave unnoticed.<p>

One pair of eyes had been watching the two young ones and their flying mount, hiding among the brush not far from their location. Those same eyes watched them leave, taking note of their direction.

_Draconis Nocturnous_. Rare species. Powerful and strong dragon. Powerful and strong bones.

He emerged from hiding shortly after the dragon had departed, a grim figure as skinny as a spear shaft and far more intimidating. Sunken eyes with blackened sockets stood out on his unpleasant face. His skin matched the pale bleakness of the chicken and cattle bones that composed the framework of his raggedy, ramshackle clothing. A series of random bones, some of which were skulls of animal origin, hung from his belt on pieces of twine and cloth. He came off as elderly, almost corpse-like as he lacked any hair, but he moved with the fluidity of a man in his prime.

Though his outward demeanor implied a level of apathy, in truth he was quite put out by the day's events. He had put much effort into the bone abomination. One hundred and thirteen years, in truth. A collection of thousands of dead creatures, prepared, corrupted, molded – and it went down less than three hours after it was launched from its century-old resting spot.

It was supposed to deal with the dragon, supposed to win the day. It almost had. But the dragon had unexpected help, an ally from out of nowhere.

The dragon and his human lackey had been expected. The rest were… complications. Still, what was done was done. The abomination had returned to the Void, as all things were destined to do. He really couldn't scream at the universe about it, not without being a hypocrite.

The Guardian had been destroyed, but not by his hand. The items were stolen; the thieves had gone to ground.

Victory postponed.

But Cervantes was a patient man… using the word _man_ loosely. All things came to him eventually. He was in a very good position to regain the initiative, as they would all find out soon enough.

That black dragon, those two humans… they bore further scrutiny. They might even prove useful.

He unclipped a dragon skull from his belt, one marked all around with strange runes and sigils in black chalk. Being careful not to disturb the marks, he held it in the palm of his left hand and chanted in a language spoken by no other living being on the planet. After the words were said, he lowered his palm.

The skull remained where it was, floating in the air.

This particular specimen was a recent acquisition. A little dragon that had gotten lost from its flight, it had been more a scavenger than a threat. But it had enough power in its bones to be useful.

It whispered to him in a sly voice, asking for instruction. Its two eyes filled with an inky blackness that was deeper than the absence of light.

"Follow the black dragon, and monitor," said Cervantes, his voice strong and certain. "Remain out of sight. You are my eyes and ears now."

The skull whispered once more, accepting the command, and then floated off towards the sky, flying as fast as it did in the past when it had a body.

Cervantes then took another bone from his belt, a femur that belonged to something ancient and long dead, and held it in his hands. More untranslatable words followed, and then a pair of skeletal bat-shaped wings materialized on his back, generated by pure mystical energy and glued to his shoulder blades by his will.

The wings were empty of leather or fabric, but that would not hinder Cervantes in the slightest. Nor did the wings beat or even quiver when he lifted off the ground and soared over the mist, heading for his own destination across the sea.

One old farmer from Tempest Point, walking down the coastal trail and still unnerved by the near-destruction of his home, spotted the winged man silhouetted against the dying light of the day and fled for the hills once more. When members of his family found him a day later, he was babbling over and over about having seen the Angel of Death.

While inaccurate, he wasn't far off the mark.


	4. Axe Rattlin'

**Author's Note: See the Prologue for a quick update.**

**Chapter Three: Axe Rattlin'**

"I still don't get it," said Snotlout, rearranging the picture in his grimy hands for a third time and frowning. Clearly hoping that enough manhandling would produce enlightenment, he only succeeded at smudging the pencil drawing at the edges.

"How does it move with just… you know, bones?" he asked. "No skin, no meat, no anything. I mean, where's the rest of it? Is there a giant bag of skin walking around somewhere, looking for its skeleton?"

Hiccup wasn't about to re-explain things to Snotlout a third time. He had no reason to expect a different result. Snotlout's imagination was much like his hygiene – lacking.

"I think that's the metal-monster thing you're looking at," said Tuffnut, sitting across the table from Snotlout and inadvertently intervening on Hiccup's behalf. "You know, the one made out of this." He held out an inch-long metal sliver he'd been casually rolling around in his right hand. He was being careful now after nicking his thumb with it a minute earlier. Like the other shards currently laid out before everyone, the thing was small and shiny and surprisingly sharp.

"And that makes more sense _how_?" replied Snotlout, rubbing his thin beard absently.

Yes, the story was going about as well as Hiccup had expected. He was glad to be at the end of it, because even his visual aids hadn't succeeded in making the story any clearer to his friends. To be fair, though, it wasn't all that clear to him either.

Hiccup was glad that the Great Hall was as bustling and congested as it was this morning, with most of the tables filled with Berk citizens happily chewing the fat and chewing the food. Hiccup's Dragon-Rider group had staked out a table near the rear, the flickering torchlight ambiance diminished in the back and allowing them some privacy. The added noise level was a shield against prying ears. Rumors could fly very quickly in a small village and Hiccup was hoping to try out his story-telling prowess on his friends before moving on to others. The only other person in the village with any inkling of what had happened on the Mainland was his dad. He had told him a summarized account of his adventure after having arrived in Berk a couple of hours over curfew. His dad's overall reaction had not been positive. While his dad was still digesting Hiccup's story, he'd already put an end to further Mainland scouting for the time being, effective for the entire village. Since that edict only affected Hiccup, no one else really cared.

At least his friends weren't accusing him of being touched in the head. That was due to Astrid's story matching his, and the tiny pile of metal fragments he'd collected from the remains of the skele-bull. None of them were bigger than the palm of his hand, but the steel they were composed of was like nothing any of them had ever seen before. Hiccup hadn't had much of a chance to experiment with it, but for such lightweight steel it was incredibly sturdy.

Snotlout hadn't been all that impressed, having taken a quick look at one fragment and then tossing it back on the pile as he moved on to the skele-bull pencil drawing Hiccup had made from memory. Hiccup couldn't tell if Snotlout's dismissive attitude was due to his general blunt-tool disposition or if it was because it was Hiccup in the limelight once again. While they'd been far more civil to each other in the last two years than all the prior years combined, it was hard for Hiccup to call him a real friend. In a group setting, or while the group was flying off on some outing, things were peaceful. Away from the group, it was nothing but cold shoulder.

The two of them did had a pact of mutual respect – Snotlout's lack of insults and potential beatings, Hiccup's lack of quietly training Snotlout's Nightmare mount to chew his rider's toes off. Not that Hiccup would ever do that, but he hadn't bothered to correct the impression that he could.

Confused initially about Snotlout's continuing disdain, Hiccup soon realized that Astrid was the issue between them. Not long after Berk got dragonized, Snotlout had ceased his lousy attempts to woo her. He had finally, _finally_ worked it out – her affections were pointed elsewhere. When he also figured out that it was Hiccup… well, Snotlout hadn't liked that at all. But with Astrid threatening a horrifying fate for anyone who put hands on Hiccup, Snotlout wisely kept his antagonism to an occasional snide remark and dirty look.

"Green Lightning," blurted out Fishlegs, who was studying Hiccup's picture of the foreign dragon with unmasked intensity. His bulky body was situated between Snotlout and Hiccup, and he was a welcomed buffer.

When the others looked at him for an explanation, he shrugged and said, "That's what we should name the dragon. The first person to discover a new dragon gets to name it, don't they?"

"Doesn't that mean Hiccup should get to name it?" said Ruffnut, sitting in-between her twin brother and Astrid and fiddling with the largest of the metal shards, absently scrapping it on the wooden table and unknowingly gouging a large rent into the treated wood.

"Astrid saw it the same time I did," said Hiccup. "Wouldn't be right for me to take sole credit."

"I'm pretty sure I was staring at the bone abomination the whole time," countered Astrid. "Hiccup can get the credit."

"Uh… thanks, but we'll just put it to a group vote down the road," said Hiccup, trying to put off the impeding arguments over the matter until later.

"Green Lightning," Fishlegs whispered not-so-subtly to Hiccup before going back to the drawing. Hiccup swore he could hear the statistics compiling in the big guy's mind, threatening to spill forth if anyone dared mention the foreign dragon in any capacity.

The group pecking order had shifted somewhat in the last two years, with Fishlegs often getting the largest share of jabs, friendly or otherwise, due to his trying tendency of looking at life through a statistical prism. The comments were usually friendly, though – it was not smart to anger someone who could very well be the offspring of a frost giant couple, one who was accidentally diverted to Berk by the Gods. He'd only gotten bigger in the last two years, to the point where his Gronckle mount was only slightly larger than he was. Hiccup had offered to help Fishlegs connect with a bigger dragon, but Fishlegs wouldn't have it. He was too attached to his Gronckle, and the dragon didn't seem to mind the increasing weight burden.

Hiccup employed him for the Dragon Manual Revision Project, a task Fishlegs enjoyed way too much. Hiccup had to intervene frequently to remind Fishlegs that he didn't have to include the average length of each dragon's tongue or which kind of poetry they found the most soothing.

"Too bad the Mainland's off limits now," said Tuffnut. "They'll need a seasoned warrior to clean up the place." The cocky smile on his face made it clear who he thought the seasoned warrior should be… and that it was self-evident.

"Tuff, I don't think you've cleaned up anything in your entire life," remarked Ruffnut.

As hard as it was to believe, the twins still spent the majority of their time in each other's company. Perhaps it was the similarity of their personalities or just some hereditary desire to make each other miserable, but it was rare to find one twin more than ten feet from the other out in public. And they still rode the same Zippleback together, despite the plethora of other dragons they could choose from.

A manly yelp from across the room distracted everyone for a moment. Swearing bellicosely, a Viking male was angrily striding away from his table with a forlorn-looking Terrible Terror under his arm. Opening the main door, he tossed the little dragon out with a loud, "Be gone!" and slammed the door shut.

Moments like that happened frequently in the Great Hall. It was the only place in the village considered a dragon-free zone outside of one's own home, if you so chose. A compromise to the older generation who weren't all that thrilled with Berk's lifestyle change and wanted a place for themselves. It was easy to keep the big dragons out – Terrors, on the other hand, were frightfully good at sneaking in. Some Vikings tolerated their presence, feeding them scraps from the table. Others were not so easy about it, especially the ones who had the experience of accidentally sitting on or tripping over one.

"Doesn't sound like there's much point to going back," said Snotlout. "Between you guys frying the flying bone thing and that Nessie guy taking out the skele-bull, you're all out of monsters."

"Nestor," corrected Hiccup. "And aren't you guys even curious about why it happened in the first place?"

"I'm curious about my brother's room," said Ruffnut. "But I'm smart enough to know not to go in there."

"If they were coming here, it'd be a different story," said Tuffnut. "Then we'd get some action for a change. I mean, it's been over a year since anything burned down. That's got to be a village record."

"Maybe they will come here," said Fishlegs. "Maybe they're not dead. Wouldn't it be cool if all the bones from the bone thing and the metal from the metal thing combined in the sea and became this mega monster that could shoot black flame from its horns as it stomped up the shoreline, crushing everything before it and going ROOOAR!"

It took the group a couple of seconds to recover from that particular Fishlegs moment. Ruffnut finally broke the silence by saying, "If that happens, Fishlegs, _you_ get to fight it."

"Point being that it's a Mainland problem," said Snotlout, "and we don't need to be sticking our noses into other people's business."

Hiccup didn't miss the underlying message behind Snotlout's words. _Don't go luring monsters to Berk, Hiccup. Don't go poking your head into places and screwing things up. _The worst part was that Snotlout wasn't entirely off base. Hiccup did worry that his involvement would somehow bring trouble to Berk, that some other horror would track him to the island and start ripping things apart. Perhaps his dad feared such a thing as well – thus, the no-fly-to-Mainland edict.

"I think what Snotlout's _trying_ to say," said Astrid, flashing Snotlout a dirty look that humbled the surly teen and then turning her eyes back to Hiccup, "is that we have our problems to worry about."

"Problems?" said Hiccup. "These is the easiest Berk's had it in decades. People keep telling me, 'Hiccup, we've never had it this good.' Exactly what problems do we have?"

"Look behind you," Astrid said quietly. "Three tables down and two to the left."

Hiccup did, and he quickly spotted what she was referring to. The table in question had a group of five Vikings, all men, but they were not Berkian Vikings. The uniformity of their clothing was apparent, mostly crimson and red with black outlines and hornless caps. Unlike the jovial crowds around them, they ate their fish silently and guardedly. They eyeballed their surroundings as if they were expecting an attack, and they kept their weapons under their seats and within easy reach.

"Gunnarr," said Hiccup, feeling uneasy all of a sudden as he studied the newcomers. He hadn't noticed them earlier. He probably walked right by them without their presence registering on him. "When did they get here?"

"Yesterday, while we were out and about," explained Astrid. "They went to see your father and then stayed the night. I heard they were shipping out this morning."

"Dad didn't say anything," said Hiccup.

"He probably didn't want to worry you," said Astrid. "Besides, it doesn't look like they're causing trouble."

As Hiccup watched, a yellow-bearded Berkian Viking by the name of Loudbelch entered the hall and began looking for a place to sit. With the hall bursting with people today, the only readily available spot was at the Gunnarr's table. Perhaps feeling brave or not being good at reading moods, Loudbelch sauntered over to the Gunnarr's table and stood before them with a friendly smile.

"Visitors, I see," he proclaimed. "And with a vacancy to boot. How 'bout a fair exchange - my sea stories for a place at your table?"

The Gunnarr Viking closest to Loudbelch looked at him as if he'd just said something obscene. With raven-black hair, a short beard, and a pair of matching scars on his cheeks that looked too symmetrical to be anything but self-inflicted, he seemed angered by the very idea of Loudbelch sharing the same air as he did.

"I have no interest in your stories," said the Gunnarr, "and I do not share my table with cowards."

All conversations from the tables surrounding the Gunnarr came to an abrupt halt. Few words can set off a Viking as well as the word _coward_ could. You're better off making lewd insults about a Viking's mother than to question his courage. To Loudbelch's credit, he didn't immediately slug the guy. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and said, "I don't think I heard you clearly. Could you repeat that?"

The black-haired Gunnarr began to rise from his seat, prompting several other Vikings to rise from their seats as well, which then prompted three of the other Gunnarr to rise in a show of solidarity, which then triggered other Berkian Vikings to stand up. The hall silenced in short order, all eyes on the brewing contest of wills in the center of the room.

"Ho, boy," said Snotlout. "This is going to get violent." He almost sounded pleased at the idea.

Acting as if the gathering throng around him didn't matter in the slightest, the Gunnarr Viking squared himself, took a step toward Loudbelch, and said, "Certainly. I said that I have no interest in your stories, and that…"

"Enough!"

It was an older Gunnarr rising from his seat behind him that preserved the peace, one with a graying beard and an eye patch over his left eye. He laid a powerful hand on his compatriot's shoulder and said, "Your father did not send you here for this, Cragfist."

Cragfist didn't look thrilled at the intervention, but the old Viking's words did have the desired effect. He gave Loudbelch an angry glance, and then motioned for his men to leave with him.

"Perhaps next time, we can continue the discussion," remarked Cragfist over his shoulder as he and his men left the Great Hall.

Hiccup let out his breath as the hall began to get noisy again, though the mood was not as chipper as before. He turned back to Astrid and said, "Yeah, okay, it's not giant-metal-bull bad, but we'll count it as a problem."

* * *

><p>The first thing that Hiccup did upon entering Gobber's workshop was to trip over a broken axe handle lying on the ground, catching himself on the open doorway before he went sprawling. His second and third subsequent acts involved almost tripping over the other discarded refuse littering the shop's floor.<p>

"Ah, Hiccup," said Gobber, bent over his workbench with a hammer in his right hand and a prosthetic set of pliers composing his left hand. "I was just saying to myself that since I have twelve saddles orders, four repair jobs, and a growing pile of wood axes that need to be sharpened, I should really get myself an apprentice. Oh, wait…"

"I know, Gobber, I know," said Hiccup, carefully picking his way through the debris field that used to be an orderly blacksmith shop. He safely made it to his private workbench and grabbed his apron. "Don't worry; you're penciled in for the rest of the week."

"Darn nice of you, lad," replied Gobber, who was currently fighting with a wrecked harness configured for a Nadder's build. So far, the harness appeared to be winning the battle. "It's not like your schedule suddenly became free or anything."

One of the side effects of Hiccup's new life was that Gobber now had to share him with the rest of the village, and Gobber had gotten the short end of the new arrangement. Even back when dragons were the enemy, few Vikings wanted to have their children grow up to be blacksmiths. Most of them preferred to swing weapons, not make or repair them. Other than substituting _dragons _for_ weapons,_ the village attitude toward the blacksmith profession hadn't changed. That left Gobber with one part-time apprentice and a surlier attitude than usual.

Hiccup found a measure of comfort in the blacksmith shop, even when Gobber was in a foul mood. It had been his second home for the longest time, though sometimes it felt more like a distraction designed to keep him out of the way during dragon raids. Once upon a time, he envisioned that he'd be taking over the trade once Gobber could no longer do it. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but at least he'd have a place in the village hierarchy that didn't involve constant mockery.

Of course, that wasn't the case now, along with so many other things.

Realizing that the shop was close to becoming a hazard zone, Hiccup stooped to pick up some of the tools and junk on the ground. Then he picked up on what Gobber had just said about his schedule being clear.

"Dad talked to you, didn't he?" said Hiccup.

"'Course he talked to me," said Gobber. "You didn't think he'd keep your little gem of a story to himself, did ya? I'm shocked that you didn't come to me first. But no, you probably went and told your friends all about it, despite the fact that I'm the one with all the experience and all the insights."

Hiccup sighed. He wasn't looking forward to Gobber's "insights." If there were a medal for super-fantastic tales of Viking heroism, Gobber would have won it thirty times over. To say Gobber embellished his stories a little was to say sheep ate grass a little. If he thought Gobber actually knew anything helpful, he'd have already gone to him.

Might as well get it over with.

"Okay, so do you have any insights?" asked Hiccup.

"About your story?" Gobber ceased his battle with the mangled harness and turned to Hiccup. "Well, I believe you, for starters."

Hiccup shrugged. "That's reassuring."

"Plus it sounds like the Gods were giving you a grand test, which you surely passed."

"Also reassuring. You wouldn't know any legends about skele-bulls and floating bone things and guys who can take horrendous blows without dying and dragons that shoot lightning out of their hands?"

Gobber shook his head. "Sorry, lad. Even that odd-fish dragon you described is out of my field of expertise. But there's a bigger point here."

"Which is?"

"That for one glorious moment in your life, you were part of something big. Maybe the Gods were doing battle with the foul legions of the underworld, or maybe some dark mage summoned up something he shouldn't have. But you lived it, you survived it, and now you can treasure the story and save it for your grandkids."

Hiccup frowned at Gobber. "So that's it? Chalk it up to one of life's mysteries and don't bother to investigate it further?"

"Well, you could go searching for answers. You could search your whole life for them. But even if you found them, you sure you'd like them?"

"I don't want to go on some quest, Gobber. But everyone around me seems to be okay with just letting it go. Something's happening around us and I'm being told to ignore it."

"There's always something happening around us, lad. The world's pretty big to just have your problems and mine alone. The trick is to focus on what's ahead of you, like that." Gobber pointed his pliers-hand at a pile of axes next to the shop's grindstone.

"Right," said Hiccup glumly. He did understand what Gobber was getting at, but it still felt wrong for some reason. Then again, where would he even begin to look for an explanation? He had stumbled into a battle through happenstance alone. He couldn't hope to be fortunate enough to stumble into the answers as well.

"Oh, before I forget," said Gobber, "your dad wants to see you after you get off-shift. Don't go running off for a flight."

"What about?" said Hiccup, picking up an axe as he pedaled the grindstone into motion.

"Didn't say. Father-son stuff, I'd imagine."

Towards the back of the store, a popping-whooshing sound erupted out of nowhere, followed by a chirping sound and something else squeaking in distress. Gobber cringed and rolled his eyes. "Also, Bitty needs a refresher on rat-catching."

Bitty was the store's Terror, a red-skinned female that had been reluctant to learn how to chase down rodents. Hiccup had only just recently gotten her to take an interest.

"Is she not going after them?" asked Hiccup.

"Oh, she goes after them," said Gobber. "Only she's not so much eating them as frying them. The shop can't take the abuse."

Hiccup couldn't help but snicker. No matter how much his life changed, his role in Gobber's life was never in any danger of changing.

* * *

><p>With unusual care, Astrid placed the last metal shard into the small woven basket Hiccup was using for a container and sealed it with a strap. She and Ruffnut were still at their table after Hiccup had realized he was running late for his shift with Gobber and the other guys had gone off to pat Loudbelch on the back for standing up to the Gunnarr.<p>

Astrid was doing Hiccup a favor by cleaning up his visual aids, but she wasn't in any rush to get back home and do chores anyway. Hiccup wanted to keep the metal shards in particular, probably as mementos of what might be his last trip to the Mainland for some time.

Ruffnut had decided to stick with Astrid instead of running off with her brother. She even helped Astrid clean up the shards, receiving a cut on her middle finger as a reward. A bit out of character for Ruff, but Astrid didn't mind the company.

"Yeouch! Sharp little things," said Ruffnut, sucking on her finger. "I'm glad I didn't see that skele-bull in person."

"It did suck the fun out of the trip," said Astrid. "It's a shame we couldn't recover more of this metal, though. I bet you could make something amazing with it."

"You mean something other than monsters?" said Ruff. Then she adopted a goofy smile and said, "Sooo, I think it's safe for you to tell me about the rest of the trip."

Astrid put down the shard basket and stared at Ruffnut. She wasn't sure where her friend was going with this. "We just told you about it."

"No, the _rest_ of it," said Ruff. "You, Hiccup, alone…"

"Oh…" Astrid stammered for a moment. She wasn't actually used to genuine girl-talk, especially not from Ruffnut. "Ah… well, actually…"

"Yes?"

"What we told you was all there was. We were too busy staying alive to think of much else."

Ruffnut didn't look convinced at first, but after staring at Astrid's sincere face for a few seconds her smile sagged into disappointment. "You're serious. Dozens of miles away from any prying eyes and… nothing. You two, geez."

"What do you mean, _you two_?"

"I mean that the two of you are driving me crazy. Will they, won't they? Will they, won't they? Did you know there's a betting pool? Half the village is in on it."

"Wait, wait, wait. First off, why do you care?"

Ruffnut shrugged unhappily. "You're the only one of us with anything resembling a love life, all right?"

"_You_ might have one if you didn't spend all your time with your brother."

"Can you _blame_ me? You've seen the guys in our age bracket."

Astrid had no response to that, so she didn't attempt one. "And second, Hiccup and I are okay with being friends."

Ruffnut gave her a strong _who are you kidding?_ look. "No, you're not. You're really not. When Hiccup goes to the effort of making a two-person saddle for Toothless, you're not just friends. When you threaten to pull off my ears if I ever go near him, you're not just friends."

"I wasn't serious about that, Ruff," defended Astrid.

"I like my ears, so I'm not taking that chance. Astrid, we're at that age when our fathers could spring an arranged marriage on us at any moment. I wake up every morning fearing my dad will be standing at the foot of bed with some dumb smile on his face as he says, 'Ruffnut, good news…'"

"Well, I don't. My father wouldn't force me to pick someone I didn't approve of."

"Yeah, but why not try for someone you _do_ approve of?"

"Can we drop this?" said Astrid, avoiding Ruffnut's question. "This is far more important to you than me."

"Fine," Ruffnut sighed sourly. She made to leave the table, but only got two steps before turning back to Astrid. She wore the most earnest expression Astrid had ever seen on her friend's face. It unnerved Astrid to a small degree.

"You're my friend, so I'm just going to say this once and then bite my tongue," said Ruff. "The friendship you have right now with Hiccup isn't going to last much longer. Deep down, I think you know that. And you two are likely to mess things up with the way you're going about it. So for your sake, and his, reel him in or cut him loose."

Having said her piece, Ruffnut left the hall. Astrid stayed behind for a time longer, marveling at how well Ruffnut hid her insightful nature (and wondering if her brother shared even an ounce of it). Less happily, she also wondered what she was supposed to do with the advice she'd been given. But with the day's routine calling to her, she shoved it into that corner of her mind devoted to uncomfortable subjects and managed to dismiss it.

As she would learn later on, dismissing something doesn't make it go away.

* * *

><p>Some late-afternoon fog managed to obscure the horizon to the east, though it did little to mar the pleasant feeling of the day. An expected storm front had gone further north, dumping a fair percentage of its load onto the uninhabited island chain that direction. Thank the Gods for small favors, but the weather might still behave itself for another few weeks before the long winter began.<p>

Rather than be corralled into the War Room, addressing the countless menial tasks that came with chiefdom, Stoic had managed to sneak off to the vista point above Berk's docks. The sea was churning slightly, a little stirred up by some of that wind from the north, but its overall tranquility managed to put the old veteran at ease, if only for a brief moment.

He was trying not to look too nostalgic. He did have an image to uphold, after all. But there were times he wished he could be on one of those patrolling longboats, feeling the sea beneath him, the wind around him, and an adventure ahead of him. He felt heavy sometimes, weighed down by a chief's life and responsibilities. It would be nice to feel light again, if only for a moment.

His son had a standing offer to take him on a dragon flight. So many other Vikings had suggested the same thing. It changed your perspective, they said, seeing the world from on high. And today would have been a nice day to do so.

But someone had to stay grounded. Someone had to keep their head level. Someone had to take the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"There you are," rang a welcome voice from behind him. "You could've said where you were going to be so I didn't have to run around everywhere looking for you."

"Sorry, son," said Stoic, turning to Hiccup as his son walked up to join him at the vista point. "Needed a breath of air. And I needed to make sure our guests made it off the island."

Stoic gestured at the fading ship on the horizon, too distant to make out discerning features without further aid. The fog was about to swallow it up, and Stoic found himself wanting to wish that the problems that went with that ship were swallowed up as well. But he was too old to make foolish wishes like that.

"The Gunnarr, I take it?" said Hiccup. "Why didn't you tell me they were here?"

"They're my problem, not yours," replied Stoic. "And at the time it sounded like you had plenty of scares for one day."

"Still, Dad, they were here… on the island… with their weapons."

"It was an envoy ship, Hiccup. By law, they couldn't draw blood."

"They seemed ready to test that law this morning."

Stoic shook his head. "I heard about that. Thor Almighty, they're getting bold."

"I heard they came to see you yesterday."

"That they did." Stoic pulled a scroll from out of his fur vest and held it like it was a snake in need of strangling. "The Gunnarr chief sent his own son to drop this off. I suppose I should be glad he's agreeing to this, but that arrogant boy of his makes my punching hand ache something fierce."

"Agree to what, exactly?"

"A summit," said Stoic. "This scroll in my hands is a treaty of temporary non-aggression. Stonefist will be coming here in two weeks."

Hiccup's eyes widened at the news. "Stonefist himself?"

"Him, every member of his family, and a hundred of his best warriors."

Hiccup shook his head in amazement. "I knew you were trying for a summit, but I didn't think they'd go for it."

"Honestly, son, neither did I. Then I actually read over these documents and I realized why he agreed."

Stoic separated one of the scrolls from the others and handed it to Hiccup. He patiently waited for his son to recognize the familiar design and handwriting, and once Hiccup let out a groan of dismay he was satisfied that his son understood the implications.

"My schematics," Hiccup said quietly. "I thought I had thrown them out several months back when Gobber had me toss out most of the dragon-killing gear."

It was the one effective contribution to dragon-fighting Hiccup had made in his life, if you didn't count Toothless – his bola launcher. Deadly enough to take down a Night Fury, at night no less, Stoic had dismissed it as another Hiccup-created failure at the time. Hiccup hadn't built another one, nor had anyone else tried to replicate it.

Until now.

"I'm thinking Eelbladder took it," explained Stoic. "Or maybe Speartongue. They were both pretty angry when they left the village all those months ago, and I heard they joined the Gunnarr not long after. It's even possible a Gunnarr spy dug through our garbage and found them. Cragfist gave these back to me with a smile and said to thank you for lending them to him, but they won't be needing them any longer."

Several Vikings had left Berk in the last two years, Stoic opting to let the dissatisfied and disgruntled leave rather than force them to adapt to Berk's new lifestyle. It was mostly the older generation; the ones that just couldn't accept that everything they'd fought for had been over a Red Death-sized misunderstanding. Dragons were devils, through and through – no quarter, no understanding, and definitely no cohabitation.

Stoic had feared a large exodus from the village, but it had ultimately been a mere trickle of die-hards. Unfortunately, it was those die-hards that had spread the word about Berk's newfound love of dragons and they weren't casting it in a positive light. The people of the Gunnarr Clan were especially disapproving.

Panic was evident on Hiccup's face now. "Might just be a bluff. The Gunnarr aren't mechanical geniuses."

"No, they're not, but apparently your notes are easy to follow. I saw their ship, Hiccup. They had two of these installed on it, and they could easily fit more. This is their way of saying that they're not scared of our dragons, Hiccup. This is axe rattlin'."

Stoic wanted his son to understand the seriousness of the situation, and in that regard he'd been successful. Too successful, as Hiccup turned away from the view, his schematics crunched between his hands, and looked on sorrowfully at the village.

"So… my fault," he said. "The Gunnarr wouldn't be breathing down our necks otherwise."

"Son, I don't want to hear that from you ever again," said Stoic, putting a strong arm around Hiccup's shoulders. "The Gunnarr are the ones at fault here. They're the ones who have a problem with all… this."

He made a wide sweep through the air with his other arm, prompting Hiccup to look at him warily and say, "You just gestured to the entire village."

"It's the truth, I fear," said Stoic. "We've changed… they haven't. We've been lucky that all they've done so far is harass our patrols from time to time, but it'll escalate eventually. So I've got to make peace with Stonefist. Unfortunately, trade deals and marriage treaties won't cut it with someone as militant as Stonefist. We have to show them how much damage we could do if a war began."

Hiccup's wary look was quickly morphing into alarm. "Dad, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

Stoic nodded grimly and stepped back from his son so he could look at him squarely. "I've respected your wishes until now, son. I know how you feel about the matter. But if we can't demonstrate our strength to the Gunnarr when they arrive, we'll be bargaining from a very weak position. You're the only one I know that might be able to pull it off in two weeks."

Hiccup wasn't happy in the slightest about this, and he said as much. "Is this why you put an end to my Mainland trips? So I can devote my energies to this?"

"I put an end to your trips because you were somehow tripping over giant abominations, Hiccup. I'm asking you to do this because we need you to do it. If we're fortunate, it won't go any further."

"And if it does go further? Have I ever mentioned that I sometimes have dreams about screaming Vikings covered in flames?"

"Hiccup…"

"Dad, I get it," said Hiccup, sighing deeply once more. "I guess I was hoping for too much. But… I'll do it."

Stoic squeezed Hiccup tenderly, trying to reassure his son that he was making a sound decision. He hated having to push him into this. It was his son's better nature that had led to Berk's transformation from a besieged settlement to a haven of mostly-benign coexistence. Stoic had his own reservations as well, but they paled to his fears of what a war with the Gunnarr would mean for his people… and for Hiccup.

"Then you can start tomorrow," he said. "Gobber will be a part of it as well, and this time I think it's only fair that he be your helper for a change."

Hiccup looked up at his father with an odd smile on his face. "Me? In charge of Gobber? That almost makes it worth it."

* * *

><p>One final pound with the hammer, one last scrape of the chisel. And the result was the same as before – another chisel point breaking off and bouncing to the ground.<p>

The shard wasn't even scratched.

Hiccup whistled as he put down his tools, still amazed by the little metal fragment despite now owing Gobber a second chisel. The polished surface of the fragment reflected the flickering candlelight as surely as it had before all the pounding and prodding and scrapping. There wasn't a tool in Gobber's shop that could dent or even blemish the metal.

From an open window, Toothless watched the proceedings with his head cocked and his eyes wide and alert. Hiccup was surprised that his dragon friend had decided to take such interest in his metallurgy experiments. Sometimes it was hard to gauge how smart Toothless was or how much he took in, but he did like watching Hiccup fiddle with things. Especially on days when their flying time was cut short and Toothless hadn't burned off enough energy.

He'd already tried heating the fragment in the forge, had left the fragment in the fire long enough to turn any other steel into a molten lump. Not only was it not molten, it wasn't even blackened. It was slightly warm to the touch, so heat could affect it eventually. But the fire had to be a lot hotter than a blacksmith's forge could manage.

"This stuff's unreal," said Hiccup, talking at Toothless. "But you managed to damage it, and that guy Nestor somehow dented it with his bare hands. Any secrets you want to tell me?"

The blank look on the dragon's face suggested there were no secrets hiding within, or at least none he was willing to share.

"One of life's enduring mysteries, right?" said Hiccup, deciding not to ruin any more tools as he placed the fragment into its storage basket. Astrid had dropped off the fragments earlier in the day, but Hiccup hadn't had any time to play with them until after dinner. He thought about letting Gobber have a go with them, but… no, this was his discovery. Besides, he needed the contemplation time. He began the day with one vexing issue on his mind and he was ending the day with two. The problem was that he really only had room in his life for one of them.

"So how do you feel about being on a dragon death-squad?" asked Hiccup. "Bet we'll make a killing."

Toothless narrowed his eyes, either not liking the death-squad idea or not liking the bad joke, or both. Hiccup went up to him and put his hand on the dragon's snout-region. "Trust me, I'm not wild about it either. But Dad makes a pretty good argument. Maybe all we need to do is show the Gunnarr we have teeth and that'll be it."

Toothless managed to look skeptical, though it might have been confusion over what Hiccup was talking about. Again, hard to judge a dragon's intellect at times.

Maybe he was just projecting his own feelings onto Toothless. He'd been against the idea of training dragons for war since the get-go. The idea had been raised a few times before, but it never really found traction. The Berkian Vikings were too busy still learning to live with their dragon comrades to consider going into battle with them. Not to mention that for three centuries the village hadn't had any enemies of note besides the dragons, so whom would they be training their dragons to fly against? And finally… well, Berk had _dragons_. Reputation alone had kept any potential foes from causing trouble.

Until now, Hiccup had been more afraid of what war training would do to his people. Dragons were fierce creatures in their own right, not even taking into account the fact that each one of them was a flying artillery piece. The temptation to misuse them for raids and conquest would be overwhelming. They were Vikings, after all.

But the Gunnarr were a different matter. They were the number-one reason the Mainlanders hated Vikings. All the time Berk had spent fighting dragons was time the Gunnarr had spent fighting humans, and they were good at it. Their clan had twice the population of Berk, and they were always looking for hospitable land to occupy. Until recently, they had left Berk alone because they considered the Berkians an important obstacle against the dragon hordes. Now, in their eyes, the Berkians were dragon-collaborators.

One of the reasons why Berk had survived the numerous dragon raids in the past was because the dragons were a disorganized, motley bunch that had no real overall battle strategy. They came on in overwhelming waves that then scattered into random skirmishes, the dragons stealing food and picking fights based on their individual natures. If they had assaulted Berk as one coordinated army, Berk would have been incinerated within minutes.

Even a small squad of dragons, trained to fly and fight as one, could be absolutely devastating. And that was what Hiccup's father had just told him to put together… within two weeks. No pressure.

Giving Toothless another pat, Hiccup turned back to his basket of shards and picked it up. He rattled it once, just to hear the little fragments clink against each other. Yup, they were still there. It was all the evidence he had of having been involved in something truly fantastic. It had only been yesterday, but it felt like years ago.

Something to tell the grandkids. Don't stick your nose into other people's business. Stop tripping over giant abominations. Focus on what's ahead of you.

"I think I get the message," said Hiccup aloud. He went over to a set of shelves next to his work desk and, using a stepstool, placed the basket on the highest shelf he could reach. For the sake of his village, he had to put it out of his mind. There were more immediate things to worry about than the affairs of strange beings at war with each other on the Mainland.

"Bed time, Toothless," he said as he blew out the candles and began securing the shop. "Tomorrow, we get serious."

Hiccup had cleaned the shop's floor of perilous debris earlier that day, but he didn't clean every nook and corner. If he had, it was possible that he might have seen a perfectly clean dragon skull the size of a Terror's head underneath Gobber's personal workbench, hidden behind oily rags and sawed-off bits of lumber. It had found a nice place to be, somewhere it could hide and yet keep an eye on its subjects. In time it would change its location as it gathered information, but for now it was safely obscured.

Here it would wait for some time – observing, listening, and waiting for further instructions.


	5. Rewriting The Rulebook

**A few author's notes: **Wanted to say thank you for all the review feedback. If I don't respond personally to you, know that I appreciate your words.

I know I said in the Prologue notes that I was aiming for a new chapter every other week. Obviously, this one is ahead of schedule, and I might stay ahead of schedule for the next few whiles (i.e. a chapter a week). Just don't be surprised if I switch back to my earlier proposed schedule of one new chapter every two weeks - life has a happy of changing on me.

Onward.

**Chapter Four: Rewriting The Rulebook**

For most of Berk's history, the Wasteland was nothing more than a geographical eyesore on the northwestern edge of the island. It was a section of coastline where the earth consisted of hard rock and pebble, where nothing could find purchase to grow and where not even the gulls and mosquitoes visited. It was useless terrain ignored by life in general.

Things were a little different now. Ebony smudges dotted the rocky outcroppings and rubble massed where strafing dragons had blasted or smashed unlucky stone formations into bits and pieces. The Wasteland had been turned into a training site for riders working on safely getting their mounts to open fire on command without burning down the village or the rest of the island. There was plenty of open sea for that kind of thing as well, but there was no real substitute for the visceral feeling of watching helpless rocks get scorched or fragmented by your dragon.

For the next two weeks, the Wasteland belonged to Hiccup and company.

First day on the job, and it was already mid-afternoon by the time Hiccup had assembled his crack team of hotshot recruits on the rocky shore of the Wasteland. And by "crack team" he meant his Dragon Rider group and Gobber. Considering how little time he had to get organized, he was thrilled to have gotten this far this fast.

Hiccup stood near the pebble shoreline, his back to the ocean as it crashed against the nearby reefs. Gobber stood to his side, the large blacksmith's shadow threatening to envelope Hiccup entirely in a few minutes as the sun shifted. Toothless stood at his other side, poking his head around a small hole and watching for something interesting to come out of it.

Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut stood before him; their respective dragon mounts milling about behind them. Hiccup hoped to get through the speech section of their training fairly quickly, since bored Viking teens and bored dragons were an explosive combination. But unlike Gobber, Hiccup liked to warn his trainees what they were getting into. And for once, Hiccup was in charge – he still couldn't quite get over that.

"Glad you could all make it," said Gobber, gesturing with his all-purpose hook arm attachment at the gathered group. "Sorry about the short notice, but then a good Viking is ready for action at the drop of a helmet."

"That's okay," said Snotlout, not looking very thrilled. "You saved me from having to clean the dragon stables."

"Personally, I think this is awesome," said Tuffnut. "We're finally going to be the deadliest things in the air."

"I think your body odor already has that title," commented Ruffnut.

"Why do you always have to ruin my moment?" replied Tuffnut.

"Not that I'm complaining about being singled out for this honor," said Fishlegs, "but aren't there way better warriors for this than us?"

"In terms of fighting, Gods yes," said Gobber. "But when it comes to flight time and actual experience in battle atop dragons, I had to agree with Hiccup. You all are the best choices. Don't make us regret it."

Astrid had adopted her patented professional look for the proceedings, and Hiccup was grateful for it. Flashing back to his dragon-training days, he really wasn't looking forward to motivating his friends into taking this seriously. Their group flights were best described as controlled chaos, someone picking a direction to go and everyone else following after. While Hiccup was often considered the flight leader, he rarely exerted any kind of authority. He was still working on feeling accepted – feeling _in charge_ felt like a bad joke.

"Still not sure why we're bothering," said Snotlout. "We were the ones who took down Red Death… well, with Hiccup doing the dragon's share of the work. And we didn't need any training for that."

"That's true," said Gobber. "You all committed yourselves like true Vikings that day. You had some skill, and you had surprise on your side… but you also had lots of luck. You might win a battle or two that way, lad, but you can't win wars. The enemies we may face in the future will be organized, well armed, and knowledgeable in taking down dragons. We have to rewrite the rulebook, do things they never thought we could pull off. Good thing we have an expert in such things right here."

"He means me, I think," said Hiccup.

"Indeed, lad," reassured Gobber. "Take it away." He took a step back and motioned for Hiccup to take over. Hiccup took a deep breath and tried not to think about how everyone's eyes were on him now, expecting some kind of epic speech or pithy advice for how, exactly, they were going to pull this off.

"Well, we already have good control of our dragons," began Hiccup, "but when it comes to flying like a team, we have to do better. So we're going to learn how to fly in formation, how to position ourselves so we cover one another. We have to learn how to go after specific targets, and we have to be accurate about it. Missed shots can cause fires and hurt innocent people. We're going to work on hand signals…"

"Hand signals?" asked Tuffnut.

"We have to be able to communicate with each other better," explained Hiccup. "Yes, we can shout to each other under normal circumstances, but in the middle of a battle, or from a distance, we won't be able to hear each other, much less understand what we're saying. So we're going to have to learn some hand signals."

"Ugh," said Ruffnut. "Sounds about as much fun as reading."

"This is great," said Fishlegs, an enthusiastic smile on his face. "I already have a system worked out. If you raise your right hand and hold up three fingers while your left hand is across your chest with your thumb up…"

"Uh, thanks, Legs," interrupted Hiccup, "but Gobber has a system based on some old Viking gestures. We're going to keep it simple."

"You'd like mine better," replied Fishlegs dejectedly.

"Not to point out the obvious," said Snotlout, "but we're all riding different dragons. Won't that mess with our team-building skills?"

"If we play to our strengths and cover our weaknesses, it shouldn't be a problem," said Hiccup. "It'll also make us more adaptable… and I'm told that's a good thing. Any more questions?"

There weren't any, so Hiccup told the group to mount up for some formation-flying exercises. There was a little grumbling from Snotlout, but otherwise they quietly went to their dragons without complaint – all except Astrid, who came up to Hiccup instead. Her professional façade was gone for the moment, a reassuring smile on her face.

"Did I look as uninspiring as I felt?" said Hiccup.

"You did fine," said Astrid. "Actually, I was surprised by how much you've thought about this."

Hiccup gestured over at Gobber, who had somehow jammed his false leg in-between two rocks and was working on freeing himself. "I talked it over with Gobber this morning. He had a lot of suggestions. But I'd be lying if I said this was the first time I've considered how to make ourselves more lethal."

Astrid nodded. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad it's you taking charge here. And don't worry about the others. They might gripe about it, but they'll follow your lead."

"That implies I know where we're going," said Hiccup, trying to smile his way through his insecurity.

Astrid snickered briefly, and then she looked at Hiccup as if she was about to change subjects and say something else. In fact, she looked like she had some weighty concern on her mind. But before Hiccup could ask her what was up, she motioned at her Nadder mount and walked away.

Toothless had picked up on the impending plan to get airborne and was nudging Hiccup with unabashed enthusiasm. "Okay, okay, bud," said Hiccup, his curiosity over Astrid's behavior fading as he mounted Toothless and took to the air. If it was important, she'd eventually get around to telling him. She usually wasn't bashful about speaking her mind.

* * *

><p>Even though Hiccup didn't want to model his training lessons after Gobber, whose methods of teaching often resulted in third-degree burns and missing limbs, he did pull one valuable lesson from Gobber's tutelage: establish a routine.<p>

The first week was all about routine – flying by sunlight, hand signals and critiques by firelight. Dawn to dusk and beyond, through cloud bursts and high winds, though sore rears and sore dispositions, Hiccup pushed his squad to think as one, respond as one, fight as one.

After the first week, Hiccup was beginning to believe that the phrase _fight-as-one_ wasn't in anyone's vocabulary.

He met with his dad for a lengthy chat after the seventh day of training. He came home not long after sundown, looking slightly broiled and more than a bit frustrated. Stoic sat by the fire pit and awaited Hiccup's news, wishing to here the updates but trying not to look too eager. Not wanting to get bogged down in the details of training life, he told his dad the highlights of the week.

_Day Three_

"Everyone, we have targets."

Cruising above the Wasteland at a slow clip, the Dragon Squad was making a gradual pass over a flat section of stony ground that was suddenly inhabited by a platoon of stick figures clad in various garbs. They were spread out in a long line and positioned to resemble two armies of warriors advancing on one another. Some had been painted or clothed in blue, others in red. Some were lined up in orderly rows and columns of their own color while others intermingled with the "enemy."

Gobber and several of his pals had gone to the effort of moving a bunch of target dummies out to the Wasteland the day before. Gobber and Hiccup had been working on these models for the last few months, mostly for Vikings still interested in practicing their combat skills in private. These dummies were as fireproofed as they could get, with as much steel as wood inside them, but they wouldn't last long against sustained dragon fire.

Hiccup was dreading this part, and he'd been hoping to put it off for another few days while he and the gang got the kinks out of formation flying. But for a change, they were actually excelling at something. All that time spent on their recreational group flights had paid off, and it had been remarkably easy to keep everyone orderly and in tight grouping.

It certainly wasn't perfect. Unlike the aerodynamically-inclined bigger dragons, Fishlegs's Gronckle (whom he named, of all things, Chomps) was barely able to keep up on tighter turns and had to stick to the outskirts of formations. The squad couldn't bank as steeply or fly as quickly with him in tow, but the little Gronckle kept trying his heart out and no one even mentioned leaving Fishlegs out of the formations.

The twins were another issue. Their Zippleback (which, depending on who you asked, was named either Killjoy or Double Threat… and not even the twins could remember who came up with either name) could fly as well as any dragon, but the frequent bickering between its riders often disrupted its concentration and forced it out of formation. But after the second day of practice, the Zippleback had apparently taken control and was largely able to maintain formation despite its cantankerous pilots.

Snotlout's Nightmare (named Fenrir, a dark name from Norse lore which Snotlout thought was "cool") was an excellent flyer. Snotlout, however, was resenting all the boring, restrictive flying and was taking it out on Hiccup with his constant complaining about the weather or the early hours or the wedgie he was getting from all the non-stop dragon riding.

Astrid and her Nadder (dubbed Beatrix – no real explanation given) were both brilliant at formation flying. Hiccup let her take the formation lead half the time, which gave him a welcome break from being in charge. Sometimes she got a little too overzealous and pushed the group faster than it could manage, often leaving Fishlegs and the twins behind. But after the second day she had learned to curb her enthusiasm and maintain better control of the squad.

Satisfied that they had the basics down, Gobber had recommended to Hiccup that they start on live fire exercises. Formations might be pretty to look at, but the Gunnarr were impressed by firepower, not flying. If they didn't have such a time constraint, Hiccup might have balked at the idea and done more formation training. But instead he agreed and had Gobber prepare the Wasteland for target practice.

"We're finally getting to the good stuff," yelled out Tuffnut. "Death from above!"

"Take this seriously, guys," shouted back Hiccup. "The targets marked red are the bad guys. Blue is our team. You're going to hit three red targets and then break off your attack. If you hit a blue, you fail. We'll do this one at time. Try to keep your flames low – we don't have any more dummies to spare. Fishlegs, you're first."

Breaking from formation, Fishlegs directed Chomps over the target field and hovered over a mixed group of targets. The Gronckle acted confused as it circled the dummies while Fishlegs yelled, "The red one right there! Blast it, Chomps!" Fishlegs repeated his order a few more times, but the Gronckle still wouldn't obey, eyeing the dummies uncertainly.

"Uh… are we sure Gronckles aren't color blind?" yelled up Fishlegs at Hiccup. Right then, Chomps finally let loose a short stream of flame, passing between two red dummies and striking a blue one in the chest area, the fire torching the hapless target and eliciting a groan from Fishlegs.

Snotlout, happy to get away from tedious formation drills, went next. He maneuvered Fenrir toward a line of red targets, figuring he might net his three hits in one pass and come out looking like a real warrior for a change. He circled around once more to make sure Fenrir knew exactly which targets to go for and then sent the dragon into an attack dive.

"Get 'em, Fenrir!" Snotlout, and the Nightmare obeyed… just not in the fashion he expected.

With a short growl, the Nightmare dropped to the ground and took the closest red dummy in its jaws, its teeth grinding the wood and metal as it shook its head ferociously side-to-side.

"No, Fenrir! Stop! I meant fire! Fire!" Snotlout could see his moment in the sun clouding over as he remembered how much Nightmares enjoyed getting up close and personal with their prey.

Fenrir stopped mauling the dummy and obeyed, launching a gout of fire while its mouth was still full of debris. Rather than stream outward, the liquid flames spread out from between its sharp teeth and began flowing up its neck towards the rest of its body.

It was a common tactic for Nightmares going into battle to coat themselves with their own flames, and it was vital to train that instinct out of them when it came to riding them. There was no way to stop it once it started, however, and Snotlout could only scream in panic and jump from his saddle as the fire rushed over his seat, destroying it. He landed on the ground with a groan, Fenrir spitting out the scorched remains of the target and staring at Snotlout apologetically as its body rippled with fiery heat.

Wondering if he should quit while he was ahead, Hiccup ordered Ruff and Tuff to do their attack run. And for the briefest of moments it looked like they might succeed, aiming their lethal intentions at a group of red dummies.

And then one of them opened their mouths.

"Hit the gas, Tuff," said Ruff.

"It's too early," said Tuff. "It won't reach."

"But if we spark it now, we'll have a nice flame-throwing effect going by the time we reach it."

"Flame-throwing? I thought we were going to gas-bomb them."

"That's not as cool-looking."

"Cool-looking? I want to live through this. The flames will blow back into our faces and burn them off."

"For you, getting your face burned off would be an improvement."

"That's it! I'm going to…"

The rest of their "discussion" was impossible to make out, as they had glided past the target zone and were heading out to sea. They finally understood their mistake a few minutes and two black eyes later.

Hiccup was almost afraid to tell Astrid to go ahead with her run, but she didn't even wait for him to give the go-ahead. With a fearsome war cry, she spun Beatrix down into a dive and soared over the dummies, a sight that would have sent the poor targets scampering had they been alive. She immediately tagged one red with a quick flame blast, banked, took out another dummy as she finished her turn, and then performed a coup de grace on her third "kill" with a barrage of Nadder spikes flicked from its tail, right to the dummy's head.

It only took ten seconds in total, after which she was back to cruising next to Hiccup and Toothless above the target zone. With a slight smile, Astrid nodded her head at the targets. "Your turn," she said.

Feeling relieved that not everyone was screwing up today, Hiccup had Toothless fly to the very edge of the course and then hover for a moment. Now that it was his run, he found it difficult to start. As much as he felt the primal urge to mow down some evil pieces of wood and steel, he had trouble seeing the dummies on the ground as just dummies. If he could've seen them as nothing but inanimate targets, blasting them would've been as easy as putting his one boot on in the morning. But they weren't dummies in the end; they were potential friends and foes of some future battle. They were lives getting snuffed out, and some of them were likely to be snuffed out by him and his friends.

Toothless wasn't rushing to engage, either. Toothless had ways of revealing his intentions, and the fact that the dragon wasn't straining against Hiccup's holding pattern meant he wasn't eager to do this. Hiccup wondered if Toothless understood the implications like Hiccup did. Night Furies were once considered the most fearsome and lethal of dragons, a dragon you'd never live past meeting face to face, yet in Hiccup's limited experience he had never heard of one actually killing anyone. One would show up during raids under the cloak of night, blowing up defenses and fortifications, but it never targeted people directly. It might have been Toothless each time, or there might have been more than one Night Fury living around Berk in the past. But Toothless certainly had a respect for life, even though he was easily capable of taking it.

"Just three red targets," said Hiccup, patting Toothless. "Then we'll call it a day."

It was over and done with before Hiccup could even blink. Toothless shot out like an arrow and rushed over the targets. Three minute flame bolts flew from his mouth. Three red dummies took the hits, the weak blasts barely singing the material.

The rest of the group cheered Hiccup and Toothless from their vantage points over the practice range, but Hiccup wasn't feeling it. Between the failures of most of his squad, and the scary successes of the rest, he wasn't sure if there was anything to feel proud about.

_Day Seven_

The weather had remained cooperative over the last three days, with not so much a wisp of mist or a sprinkle of rain to ruin the training. It wouldn't take much of a downpour to prevent dragons from using their fire, so Hiccup was taking every opportunity given him to drill his squad on target practice.

As time rolled on, the squad improved slowly but surely. Fishlegs had worked out a targeting system for his Gronckle; a long stick that he could position past his dragon's eyes to point at the desired target. Snotlout had fixed his miscommunication difficulties with Fenrir as well as getting a flame-retardant saddle. Ruffnut and Tuffnut had agreed to a few ground rules negotiated by Hiccup over who was in charge of what during when, which didn't end the bickering but significantly reduced it.

Another long day of drills and practice was nearing its end, the setting sun coloring the sky with its own shades of dragon fire. Most of the dummies had ceased resembling human stick figures, their extremities burnt off and their frames warped and melted from repeated attacks. The target range had become a solid band of charcoal and soot, further blemishing the already blemished Wasteland.

Although everyone was drained from a solid week of training and their dragons were low on combustion gas, Hiccup was having the squad fly one last exercise before they lost the light altogether. Flying in a loose X-formation with Toothless in the lead, they were taking a long approach to the target range. This time out, they were going to attack it as one coordinated front instead of as individuals. Each rider had been given a target to hit beforehand and they weren't going to worry about friendly targets this time out.

It was as simple as Hiccup could make it. Fly by, hit the target, and don't get in anyone else's way. Nothing fancy this first time through. This being _his _squad, Hiccup already knew it wasn't going to go very well, but he had already factored in a few mistakes into his expectations. He just wanted them to get a taste of fighting as a team before the week was over.

Snotlout and Fenrir were flying off Hiccup's right flank, with Astrid and Beatrix below him. Snotlout was more than happy to be having the day come to an end. Not since dragon training had he felt this wiped, and it didn't help to be taking orders from Hiccup constantly. At least the number of his embarrassing training moments had been kept to a minimum, with Fenrir almost spontaneously combusting him being the worst.

As they approached the target range, his gaze began to wander a bit. Fenrir could easily nail one target on his own, so he wasn't worried about losing focus. He was looking toward the north, wishing he could be out on a free flight over the sea rather than stuck doing boring and probably unnecessary exercises. He understood why Hiccup and Gobber _thought_ they should be doing this, but he didn't see the value in it. They had dozens of Vikings trained to ride dragons, more than enough to send an army of Gunnarr into full retreat, so why waste their time with squad tactics?

It was still better than doing chores, but not by much.

As he watched the sea churn and flow, something moving in the air caught his eye. A weird distortion or ripple was moving from east to west, almost like a little blob of clear water flying through the sky. He couldn't make out any details about it, not even its shape, and it was moving erratically enough that he couldn't tell if it was getting closer or moving away.

It occupied his attention for a few seconds too long, before he noticed that the rest of the squad had gone into a battle dive toward the targets. Fenrir was still flying straight.

"Thor's beard!" Snotlout swore, putting Fenrir into a steeper dive than the others, desperately trying to avoid adding another embarrassing moment to his tally. But he overcompensated, barely managing to pull out of his dive before colliding into Beatrix. As it was, he grazed the blue-scaled dragon with a slight touch on the right wing.

Beatrix felt the Nightmare briefly graze her, Astrid's dragon panicking from what it considered a potential attack. Right as Astrid gave the order to shoot, Beatrix veered up and to the left. Surprised, Astrid yelled Beatrix's name as the Nadder let slip a blast of fire, which completely missed her target but didn't completely miss Hiccup and Toothless.

Hiccup was rather surprised to see a torrent of flame pass by his face, the heat reddening his skin and curling more than a few hairs. He managed to maintain his composure for a few seconds, mostly due to surprise, and then he closed his eyes and bit his lips to stifle an angry outburst. Toothless was more shocked and confused than injured, his head darting around as he instinctively looked for further danger.

"Hiccup!" yelled Astrid, bringing Beatrix alongside Toothless. "Are you okay?"

"I'll get back to you on that," he quietly replied. "For now, let's all land."

A minute later, after the group had landed on the blackened target range, Snotlout was sounding suitably contrite as he attempted to explain what happened.

"Really, it was an accident," he pleaded, keeping his eyes on an enraged Astrid and tensing his legs in case he needed to run for his life.

"What was it this time?" said Hiccup. "Clouds in your face? You ate another bug?"

"I… don't know. There was something out there over the ocean." He pointed off to the north. Naturally, the odd thing he'd seen had completely vanished, so he was going to look either crazy or irresponsible.

"Something out there," mimicked Hiccup. "You're not even trying anymore."

"Seriously, there was something flying around. I couldn't get a real good look at it, but…" Seeing that Hiccup and Astrid weren't looking any less angry, he tried another approach. "Hey, maybe it was one of those things you were talking about…"

"Don't, Snotlout," interrupted Hiccup, his temper beginning to flare. "Just don't. I know you're no fan of mine these days, so don't insult my intelligence with…"

"You know, lads and lasses," interrupted Gobber, who had quietly crossed the distance between his safe spot outside of the target range to the assembled group, "you've all been burning the candle at both ends. I suggest you take the night off. Run yourselves too ragged, and you're bound to make mistakes."

Gobber's words managed to break through the rising tension. Hiccup looked at Gobber, smiling that crooked smile of his, and decided to follow his advice. He took a deep breath and said, "Right. No signal training tonight, guys. Get some sleep and I'll see you all in the morning."

The group relief was instantaneous, Fishlegs and the twins eagerly taking off with Snotlout right behind, still watching Astrid warily for any indication of impending violence.

Hiccup wasn't any happier than before, though, so Gobber put his hook arm around Hiccup's shoulders and said, "Sorry for buttin' in, lad, but it wasn't going to do for you all to start tearing into each other. Some cooling down won't hurt." He looked around at the sky and added, "Looks like a nice night out, so I'm going to leg it back. Don't be out too late, you two."

After Gobber started off towards Berk, Hiccup and Astrid moved off to the beach so they could sit somewhere that wasn't coated in ash and soot. Toothless and Beatrix found places in the surf to frolic, happily entertaining themselves, as Hiccup found a clump of rocks to sit upon. Astrid joined him at his side.

"You're sure you're okay?" she asked for the eleventh time.

"I'm kinda used to getting scorched," he replied. "No worse than a sunburn."

"I still want to beat up Snotlout."

"I'm tempted to let you, but we still need him in one piece." Hiccup looked out toward the sea and tried to breathe out his tension. It didn't really work. "One week to go, and we're nowhere near ready."

"We're better than we were… though, honestly, that's not saying much."

"Maybe I should turn things over to Gobber."

Astrid was distressed by that idea. "I lived through one of Gobber's trainings already. I don't think I'll survive another."

"Okay, maybe you should do it."

"Me? I don't have the experience… Wait, why are you suddenly giving up?"

"I'm not _suddenly _giving up. I've been giving up a little each day."

"Hiccup, you're doing fine."

"You keep saying that, but I'm not seeing it."

"If you're expecting to have us plugging pebbles on the ground while we're doing loopy-loops by the end of next week, then you're expecting too much. But we're coming together, Hiccup, and we're all in one piece. I'd say it's not bad for your first stint at leadership."

Hiccup blew out another sigh. "My first. Probably more to come, right?"

"You are the chief's son."

"Like that should make any difference. It wasn't long ago that half the village would have up and joined the Gunnarr if anyone even joked that I'd become chief."

"Not long ago, we used dragon teeth as toothpicks."

"Yeah, we did. That was kind of disgusting." He looked back at Astrid. "Well, can I least make you Second-in-Command?"

Astrid jokingly thought about it for a moment and then said, "I suppose I can do that."

"Good. Then I hereby declare, with all the power vested in me, signed, sealed, etc, that you are Second-in-Command of our Dragon Squad."

"Great. By the way, I already assumed I was."

"Yeah, so did I."

There was quiet again for a minute, the only sounds the playful growls of Toothless and Beatrix enjoying the surf, and Hiccup once again got the impression that Astrid had something else on her mind. It was something she either couldn't put into words or something she didn't want to say but couldn't quite scrub the emotion behind it off her face. Hiccup figured it was the latter possibility.

He wanted to hope that her thoughts were headed where he hoped they were headed, but he definitely didn't want to rush her. Besides, he had too much on his plate right now to think in _those_ terms, so he let the matter drop once again.

As if worried that Hiccup was somehow reading her mind, Astrid hurriedly said, "Know what's funny? When Snotlout made up that story about seeing something, I actually thought about… you know…"

"Our friends from the Mainland," finished Hiccup. "It crossed my mind too, but only for a second."

"Good to know. I was afraid you might obsess on it."

"I don't obsess… much…. anymore. I mean, you weren't afraid I'd go off on some mad quest to find the truth, were you?" When Astrid didn't immediately respond, Hiccup frowned and said, "You thought that, didn't you?"

"Not seriously. Just…"

"Just what?"

"You're not like us, Hiccup, and there are times I worry that you weren't meant to stay in Berk. That something's going to drag you away, call you away… or you'll just decide to leave. I was afraid that what happened on the Mainland was that something."

Astrid was looking out toward the sea, no longer meeting Hiccup's eyes. He wondered for a moment if this was the unspoken subject she kept avoiding, but he wasn't getting the same vibe from her. This was more a distant fear, not in the same category.

"Astrid, I _like_ it here," he said quietly. "Even when the village wanted me tied to a tree as dragon bait, I still considered Berk my home. Now that I got this place running the way I like it, I'm _definitely_ staying put. Got it?"

She looked back at him and managed a smile. "Good, because otherwise I'd have to hunt you down and drag you back here. We need you here, Hiccup, and don't you forget it."

Another set of warming words, but Hiccup noted how carefully she worded them. _We_ need you here, Hiccup.

As his thoughts turned toward flying back to Berk, Hiccup felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. He had a prickly feeling in the back of his mind that made him feel like he was being watched. He scanned the beach and the surrounding rocks for any new pairs of eyes, but there was nothing out of place. The feeling soon left him, and he chalked it up to old thoughts about the Mainland encounter.

But he watched the sky more vigilantly on his way home, just to be on the safe side.

* * *

><p>Most of the more personal details of the last week were left out of Hiccup's debriefing to his father, but otherwise Hiccup gave him a honest summary of how things were progressing. He expected to get criticized for not being tough enough on Snotlout or doing too much formation flying and not enough violence.<p>

Much to his surprise, Stoic was content with Hiccup's performance.

"Son," began Stoic, "my first command was aboard a longship patrolling up near the ice flow in the dead of winter over two decades ago. Even back then, I was obsessed with finding the dragon nest and I thought it was somewhere in the ice to the north. I had this stupid notion that the nest was on a large iceberg that changed positions all through the year, which was why we could never find it. As a result of my folly, we ran into a different iceberg and got marooned for a few days. If my own father hadn't sent another longboat my way, my men would have starved or frozen. I was very lucky that we all survived as it was – not everyone is so fortunate."

"Give me time," said Hiccup. "I might still find a way to mess this up."

"No doubt," said Stoic lightheartedly. "You've done well in the last week, rest assured. In another week, I think you'll have a squad capable of putting the fear into the Gunnarr. I've asked Gobber to work on a demonstration plan, something that will show off your squad's skills during the summit. Nothing too fancy, mind you. I just want them to get the idea of what happens when they're on the bad end of our dragons."

Stoic also agreed with Gobber about allowing everyone a little down time. He was proud of how hard Hiccup was pushing his trainees, but R&R did wonders for the morale. He suggested a two-hour block each day for everyone, including Hiccup.

Hiccup agreed, deciding to put the two hours at the end of flight time but before signaling lessons in the evening. It would help smooth things over in the group and he certainly could use some downtime of his own. His problem was what to do with it. He wouldn't be in any mood for more flying after a day full of it, and he didn't want to sink his precious free time into Gobber's shop or training dragons or the Dragon Manual. And he could really use some responsibility-free time to himself, no offense to Astrid or the others.

That left one option – tinkering. Good thing he already had a project on the side.


	6. Tinkering

**Yes, It's An Author's Note: **In the FYI department, I've updated my profile a few days ago so that it actually has some actual information about me. It's no longer the lame entry that it's been for the last decade. In case any of you have looked there before, feel free to look again. Nothing earthshattering, I'm afraid... I'm still not as interesting as Ozzy Osbourne, but then who is?

Onward.

**Chapter Five: Tinkering**

Hiccup was never sure what to call it – Toothless's Pond, Toothless's Sanctuary, That-Walled-Pond-in-the-Middle-of-the-Island. He'd been afraid to give it a name in the past in case he blurted it out during a conversation and revealed Toothless's existence to the dragon-hating citizens of Berk. Even now he still struggled with an appropriate name, since Toothless didn't use it as a home any longer.

He usually settled on Sanctuary – short, sweet, and covered a lot of possible meanings.

Sanctuary wasn't all that secure a place though, not since the dragons had moved into Berk. There were occasional reptilian visitors that used it for a watering hole or a rest stop. But no Viking frequented the place and Hiccup hadn't had any good reason to divulge its location to his dad or anyone else. Only Astrid knew about it and she had no interest in it other than to check up on Hiccup when he disappeared for too long.

He hadn't visited Sanctuary in over three weeks, not since he started his Mainland forays. That had occupied his time considerably, and now dragon-squad training had taken its place. But now, after another long and semi-frustrating day of flying and frying, he was ready to resume his work.

The pond hadn't changed much at all in the last two years, but it did have a new addition not far from the gap in the cliff walls surrounding the pond. Toothless deftly landed right next to the addition, a wooden structure that was little more than a few pine boards attached to a series of bracing stilts, slanted to allow snow to slide off rather than build up and collapse the roof. Hiccup had built it piecemeal, carrying or flying in materials and tools when he had the chance to do so. It was designed to keep the weather off the gear underneath, though it still got buried during the long snow periods that consumed the fall and the winter. Hiccup could only use it in the spring and summer.

He had to improvise a few things – a heavy slab of granite instead of an anvil, a rather amateurish-looking fire pit for a forge, and most of his tools were half-eaten by rust. It had a real haphazard feel to it, though considering that most of the gear was scavenged or cast off that wasn't surprising. But as makeshift blacksmith shops go, it could've been worse.

This was Hiccup's tinkering spot, away from prying eyes and ears. Many Vikings still had scars from Hiccup's previous inventions, and they were thrilled to hear that Hiccup had abandoned his hobby – at least in public.

Hiccup dismounted from Toothless and went inside his shop, pressing against the struts to make sure they hadn't rotted and weakened. Satisfied that he wasn't walking into a death trap, he went to the large covered object centered in the shop. Toothless watched as he threw off the cloth coverings to reveal his year-old pet project, inspecting it for any new insectoid or rodent housekeepers. A few spiders had moved in, but otherwise it was free of unwanted residents.

"Help me move this out in the open, will you?" said Hiccup, throwing Toothless a rope attached to the project's support frame. The dragon caught the rope in his teeth and began yanking it backward, pulling the wheeled framework out from under the structure and into the cheery sunlight.

With better light to work by, Hiccup began his formal inspection of the device. Unless something had warped, corroded, or bent while he was away, it should've remained in good shape. Most of the object's bulk was a support frame built from cheap lumber, the biggest piece being a four-foot-long log about the width of Toothless's torso supported on a quartet of angled wooden limbs. The log had another dragon saddle secured to it, an older model designed for one rider but with a few new modifications. Those modifications went along with the cylinder attached to the underside of the log, half as wide but slightly longer than the log it hung from. Made of sturdy oak, the device had a series of springs and coils within, along with a supply of the thinnest, strongest rope Hiccup could acquire curled in the rear. The front section was concave, a hole in the center with a metallic spear-like attachment inserted and connected to the rope feed. The attachment could be fitted with a number of different tools, not unlike Gobber's interchangeable left hand. Truth be told, that's where Hiccup got the idea.

The outside frame had a secured hatch for internal access and a few metal levers for regulating spring strength. Two more levers acted as a trigger and rewind system, secured to the saddle's right stirrup in the same way the saddle's left stirrup controlled Toothless's tail rudder. The right stirrup controlled the mechanism, both to launch it out and then rewind it.

Hiccup wouldn't say he was naturally ambitious, unless ambition was defined as spending most of your life relentlessly trying to emulate your average Viking warrior. But this thing – this was ambitious by any definition. Using some of the design innovations from his bola launcher and some brand-new inspirations, he had gone and created a grapple launcher. But to make it work, it had to be heavier and bulkier than his previous device. An average-sized Viking might be able to manhandle it, but Hiccup couldn't hope to lift the thing on his own. However, his intentions for the device didn't involve Vikings.

"Looks like we're good to go," said Hiccup after finishing his inspection. He pushed on the front end of the framework, the frame's maneuvering wheels creaking but cooperating as he aimed the launcher at an old keg he'd been using as a target. The keg was weighed down to keep it from moving from repeated impacts, and it sported several gaping holes already from the launcher's spear attachment.

"One more test fire and we'll move on to the field test," he said, double-checking the alignment.

Toothless sniffed the grapple launcher and then looked at Hiccup with a disapproving expression. Hiccup could easily guess what Toothless was thinking: _You're not putting that thing on me, are you?_

"C'mon, bud, it won't be that bad," said Hiccup, climbing on top of the Fake Toothless Log. "Think about the upside. If we get this thing to work, fishing's going to be a breeze."

That was Hiccup's primary purpose behind the grapple launcher – fishing. Berk had always been a fishing village and the steady supply of fish was what kept the new dragon population happy and fed. However, Berk now needed a _lot_ more fish than before. Most warriors were putting down their axes and picking up fishing lines, but even with the added manpower the village was essentially breaking even on supplies. While most dragons were capable of fishing on their own, there was some concern about what the dragons would do if the fish supply began to dwindle.

Instead of relying on the slower longboats for fishing runs, why not use dragons? Attach a weighed net or even a spear to the grapple and you had yourself a fishing tool. Dragons were natural fishers anyway, so why not use those talents to Berk's favor?

There were other potential uses for the grapple launcher, the pettiest being to show up the Gunnarr Vikings and their second-rate bola launchers. Hiccup admitted that there was a pride issue here. If he could get the device to work before the summit, he might sneak it into the squad demonstration just to spite the Gunnarr bigwigs. They can build a better dragon trap; he'll just build a better dragon.

Toothless still wasn't looking convinced. They had plenty of near misses just giving Toothless the ability to fly again. Putting a new piece of gear into the equation probably made him uneasy.

"I promise that it's safe," reassured Hiccup. "Observe."

He had already spent time configuring the grapple launcher to align with a targeting reticule built into this particular saddle. Hoping it hadn't gotten knocked out of alignment, Hiccup pressed down on his right stirrup, clicking the footrest to the Release position.

With a loud _thump _that shook the entire framework, the launcher's metal shaft flew out from under Hiccup, a wiggling trail of rope in its wake. It slammed into the wooden keg with the strength of a ballista round and imbedded itself halfway in. It remained stuck until Hiccup clicked the Retrieve position, the rope suddenly reversing direction and dragging the metal shaft out of the keg and back into the launcher.

"See?" said Hiccup. "That makes a dozen successful shots. A couple more tweaks and we'll be ready to go." Toothless didn't seem that impressed, but he waggled his head in tacit acceptance of Hiccup's plans.

The rest of Hiccup's free time was spent uninstalling the two-seater saddle and replacing it with the launcher saddle, Toothless patiently standing around or lying down over the launcher as Hiccup hooked and unhooked, strapped and unstrapped, fiddled and configured. By the time the sun had faded into the sea, Hiccup had successfully installed the saddle and had practiced attaching and detaching the launcher several times.

Needing to get back home to lead signaling practice, he left the new saddle on Toothless. Unlike saddles, the launcher was not something he could leave on Toothless indefinitely. It was far too bulky and cumbersome. He also didn't want to spoil the surprise just yet. If tomorrow went well, everyone would see his new gizmo in action soon enough.

* * *

><p>The next day's series of coordinated drills went off much better than before, the only incident of note being Ruff and Tuff's Zippleback getting upset with… well, itself, and almost knocking Fishlegs off his Gronckle while the dragon's two heads sparred with each other in midair. Ruff and Tuff were okay, naturally blaming each other for somehow sparking their mount's bad behavior.<p>

Hiccup supposed a little optimism was warranted. The squad was hitting more targets than they missed. They flew together well, followed orders without much complaining, and they were beginning to get the hang of the hand signal alphabet to the point where they only misread the signals half the time. Given another month, they'd be perfect. Given five more days, they just might avoid looking ridiculous in front of the Gunnarr.

Alone with Toothless, flying above the trees around Sanctuary, Hiccup was feeling a different kind of tension. While confident of his new device, he couldn't help but worry that it might decide to fire out its rear end or explode for no good reason. While those ideas were silly, he did have to caution Toothless not to turn his head down toward his belly. The launcher had plenty of clearance if Toothless kept his head straight, but while the launcher had a safety lock to prevent accidental firings Hiccup wasn't about to risk his friend's health on its reliability.

"Okay, bud, let's go teach that keg a lesson," said Hiccup, banking Toothless to the right and lining him up with their target keg on the other side of the pond. Despite his earlier reluctance, Toothless seemed to be getting into the field test and headed for the keg with gusto. This time out, the keg was free of any moorings and might just come along for the ride.

"Over to the right… A little more… Good, hold." Hiccup stared down the reticule, keeping the brown keg firmly in the center. He had a good idea of the launcher's effective range from his previous tests, but it was harder to judge such things on a moving dragon. He had about sixty feet of rope, so he had to get pretty close for this to work.

Diving toward the keg, Hiccup made his best guess and shouted, "Fire!" as he pressed down on the right stirrup. The launcher's shaft lanced out, Hiccup not even feeling the recoil thanks to his powerful friend. Toothless pulled up from his dive and climbed back towards the sky, Hiccup looking back to see if he hit the keg. Alas, he spotted the shaft dangling behind them in the air, keg-less.

"Missed," said Hiccup, retrieving the rope into the launcher. "Okay, let's try again. Go slower this time so I can correct the aim."

Toothless banked again just as the launcher finished rewinding, sighting up on the hapless keg once more. Hiccup decided to wait until they got a little closer this time, as he couldn't tell if he had flubbed the last shot due to range or accuracy. Toothless could turn in very tight places, so he trusted his dragon not to bash them into a wall or the ground.

Hiccup triggered the launcher again… and absolutely nothing happened. He tried twice more, but the launcher refused to obey his right foot's commands.

"Uh, oh," said Hiccup, Toothless already climbing out over the trees again. "I think we misfired. Better come in for a…"

_Then_ the launcher fired, surprising Hiccup and Toothless with a yelp and a growl respectively. The metal shaft sailed out on its own accord, successfully hitting the top of a lonely and sickly-looking pine and managing to get snagged well and good.

"Of course," said Hiccup dejectedly, and then he was holding on for dear life as Toothless lurched in the air, growling in alarm as they became stuck in an endless turn around the ensnared tree. Toothless pulled against the rope, but couldn't dislodge it from the tree. Forced to continue banking around the tree, the rope began to wrap around the pine, slowly bringing them closer and closer by the second.

Then there was another lurch, Toothless protesting again as the rope began to actively pull them in at a faster and more forceful rate.

"Oh, no, no, no, no!" Hiccup realized the enormity of the mechanical failure. Not only had it misfired, but now it was automatically rewinding, dragging the two of them towards the tree. Toothless was pulling as hard as he could against the launcher, twisting against the incessant rewind like a fish on a line, but he wasn't going to break them free before they collided with the tree.

With Toothless in a full panic, Hiccup only had seconds to make the call. The tree was too flimsy to support the dragon's weight. They'd break through it and fall the rest of the way down. They were at least fifty feet up. The fall could kill them both. The launcher shaft was too entwined in the tree now to hope it might come loose in the next two seconds.

But he could still set things loose on his end.

Closing his eyes and praying that Odin was in a good mood, he reached down toward his right foot and grabbed a special emergency strap. With a mighty tug, it fell free. The strap holding the saddle to the dragon came undone, leaving Hiccup with a sudden feeling of weightlessness as he separated from Toothless.

The new several moments were severally disorienting – tumbling, a lurch or two, the smell of pine all around him, the slap of leafy needles as they buffeted him. The frantic cry of Toothless growing farther and farther away…

Then one last lurch brought the disorientation to an end, his shoulders and left leg aching as he began to get his bearings once more. A disheartening swinging sensation had replaced the weightless feeling as he realized he was stuck up in the tree, still a good fifty feet up and with nothing in reach.

His harness had saved his life, the two chest straps and his metal foot brace keeping him connected to this dangling saddle. He held onto the saddle with both hands and looked up, dreading what he was about to see. Thankfully, it wasn't as bad as he expected. The launcher was tethered to the tree, having rewound as far as the bound-up rope would allow, and the launcher remained attached to the saddle. The tree, while a thin specimen, was supporting his weight, though the top leaned over toward Hiccup as if keenly interested in him. For once, being small was a good thing.

Believe or not, Hiccup had anticipated this possibility, or something like it. This particular saddle came equipped with an emergency release in case the launcher got hopelessly tangled. Hiccup didn't have any plans for getting untangled this high off the ground, however.

Twisting his head around, he could see Toothless at the base of the tree, unharmed and growling up at him in a fearful tone. He'd made it safely down, though he wouldn't be able to fly back up without the saddle. That wasn't stopping Toothless from trying to scale the tree, shaking the entire thing and making Hiccup grab the saddle even tighter.

"Toothless, really bad idea!" he yelled downward, making Toothless stop his accent attempt. "The tree won't support both of us. Go get help."

Toothless was understandably reluctant to leave his friend hanging in a dangerous situation and he refused to leave. "It's okay, Toothless, it's not like I'm going anywhere. Go get someone," Hiccup ordered. He didn't relish the ridicule this incident was going to net him, though it still paled to some of his past moments of spectacular failure.

Toothless finally relented and made to take off toward Berk, off to the south. But as Hiccup watched, Toothless took a few steps in that direction and then halted. His ears perked up and he twisted his head around as if zeroing in on some distant sound. After a few seconds of this behavior, the dragon did a one-eighty and rushed off further north, into the deeper part of the forest.

"Toothless!" yelled Hiccup. "Berk's the other way!" But Toothless was already gone, leaving Hiccup wondering what could be so blankety-blank interesting that it could distract a dragon from saving his friend's life.

* * *

><p>When you're freaked out, time has a way of mercilessly crawling by. So it was for Hiccup, who felt like he had been hanging in the tree for hours on end even though the sun had barely changed position from the last time he'd check the time.<p>

He couldn't stop thinking about how he'd brought this on himself. His need for solitude combined with a desire to tinker, with a surprisingly erratic dragon thrown in for good measure, had led him here. Most Vikings preferred to perform their acts of stupidity in public, where supportive friends and healing balms weren't too far away. But no, he had to do it in private.

He thought about swinging toward the trunk and grabbing it, then detaching from the saddle and shimming down the tree. But the part of the tree he was suspended from was bent over and didn't look all that healthy. Serious motion might cause it to break.

Regardless, he might have to try it eventually, and sooner than later. Trying to get down at nighttime would be suicidal. But he'd wait a little longer. Toothless might have suddenly lost all sensibility, but there were other dragons and dragon riders in the air. One of them was bound to notice him. Again, though, after the sun went down his odds of rescue weren't going to look too good.

He had another thought – the auto-release lever on the launcher. Assuming that it hadn't gotten jammed during the misfire, the auto-release would allow the rope to slide free and lower the launcher and its hapless tagalong down to the ground. It would come out pretty fast, but slower than the rate of freefall. However, he'd have to climb up the strap suspending him below the launcher and somehow hold up not just his weight but all the extra gear while he fiddled with the device.

Well, no better time to get into shape than… what's that?

He heard it – a human voice in the distance, growing louder. No mistaking it, someone was coming in his direction. As he listened, he thought he heard short insistent growls accompanying the masculine voice. Toothless – he'd recognize those growls every time.

Feeling terrible for ever doubting his friend's intentions, he twisted his head to pinpoint their location. They weren't in view yet, but they were probably coming from the north, which didn't make much sense as no one lived out that way and few Berkians recreated this far out of the village.

As the voice grew closer, he swore it sounded vaguely familiar. He closed his eyes and strained to make out the words:

"This way? Yes, nudge me more, as if I haven't already taken the hint… It would help if you could give me some idea of what you need from me. I'm assuming someone's in distress, but you might be lonely for all I… _Salo krebit_, pushy dragon, you'll take my arm off if you pull any harder."

Hiccup's eyes shot open. He knew that voice.

No way.

The two of them appeared below the tree a minute later. Toothless was emphatically gesturing up towards Hiccup with his head. The man with him looked up and studied Hiccup, nodding, as he finally comprehended the dragon's intentions.

"Nestor?" shouted down Hiccup.

The man responded to the name with confusion and he squinted up at Hiccup. "Have we… Ah… Wait… Hiccup?" The confusion ended and was replaced with absolute shock. Nestor regarded Toothless, looked back at Hiccup, looked back at Toothless once more, and then slapped his forehead. "And here I figured there was more than one black dragon in these parts. Plus he didn't have a saddle. Didn't think there was a connection to you. I suppose the false tail should have been a giveaway."

"Nestor, what are you doing here?" asked Hiccup.

"Getting accosted by your demanding dragon," replied Nestor. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I live here."

"In that tree?"

"The island!"

"Ah, yes. Obvious question, really. And you're up a tree because…?"

"Because I'm a very stupid person. Help?"

With his snout, Toothless insistently nudged Nestor toward the tree before he had a chance to respond. "Yes, yes, pushy dragon,' said Nestor, taking hold of a branch and testing its strength. "Rest assured, I wasn't going to leave him at the mercy of the elements. By the Fates, it hasn't even been a day yet."

Despite being a few years older than Hiccup, Nestor wasn't a great deal bigger than him. His nimble torso allowed Nestor to squeeze between clustered branches that any other Viking would have found impassible. That said, Nestor snapped off several branches on his way up, though he always caught himself before falling. The tree was a pitiful thing - Hiccup wouldn't be surprised if a gull landed on an upper bough and toppled it.

Hoping to not witness his fortuitous savior fall to his demise, Hiccup watched Nestor as he moved up to roughly even elevation with Hiccup, the enigmatic man steering clear of the bending section of the tree as he sized up the situation.

"Is this a lesser-known Viking custom?" asked Nestor. "Getting stuck in trees? If so, your people should abandon it and move on to better ways."

"Save the commentary for later," replied Hiccup, dangling a couple of feet from Nestor. "What do you think?"

"Might be able to grab the device and hoist you down, but it was tricky enough getting up the tree by myself. Going down with one free hand while keeping you from failing… not looking forward to that."

Hiccup gestured up at the launcher. "There's a release lever on the device above me. See if you can get to it."

A moment later, Nestor was up near the launcher, gripping the tree for dear life while his right hand studied the contours of the device. The tree bent further over with Nestor's added mass, but it didn't groan or otherwise indicate it might be near the breaking point.

"Okay, there's a lever marked Full Release," said Hiccup. "Can you see it?"

"There are several levers, none of them marked."

"Yes they are," defended Hiccup. "The runes might be upside-down, but…"

"Oh, _runes_. That's what these scratches are. Can't read runes."

"But you can speak Norse."

"Yes, _speak_. Not the same as reading."

"Well, I'd give you a crash course, but I'm not teaching literacy fifty feet off the ground." He had to think about the design so he could give Nestor accurate instructions. "The farthest lever on the opposite side. That should be it."

"What happens if I pull the wrong one?"

"Anything from nothing at all to me getting out of this tree really, really fast."

"Ah." Nestor rearranged his body so he could get at the other side of the launcher and slid his free hand along the wooden cylinder until he found the metal lever where Hiccup said it would be. He looked back at Hiccup with an anxious gaze. "How do I work it?"

"Pull toward you, and then let go. Otherwise you'll come along for the ride."

"Right. You Vikings sure like living dangerously, don't you?"

"Well, me personally…"

"Rhetorical question," said Nestor, yanking the lever.

Hiccup's stomach threatened to come out of his throat as the saddle fell away, taking him with it. He held onto the free-falling saddle, his eyes squeezing shut from stark terror. Then the ride became a series of fits and starts, Hiccup's heart starting every time his fall slowed and stopping every time it accelerated. It lasted way too long, his eyes refusing to open until the fall had come to its final conclusion.

One final jerky halt knocked his hands free of the saddle and would have thrown him off completely if not for his other moorings. His eyes shot open at last, his breath coming out in quick exhales. He hadn't felt any impact and he was still breathing – good signs.

He heard a worried growl coming from underneath him. He looked down and saw Toothless maybe ten feet below him, the dragon looking back up at him with a mix of curiosity and concern. The ground was a lot closer now, the fall certainly survivable.

He looked up and saw that the grapple launcher's rope had played out to the end of its length. A lot of it had tangled up in branches, shortening the length so that he had come to a stop still dangling in the air. Nestor was already coming down the tree almost as quickly as he had scaled it.

"Phew!" breathed Hiccup. "I really didn't think that was going to work."

"You have the Fates' Luck," said Nestor, now almost down to the ground. "Don't squander it. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"Uh… I'm not out of the tree yet. You do know that, right?"

Nestor jumped the remaining distance down to the ground, landing with a quick forward roll and then proceeding to run away. "You can handle the rest," he explained as he ran off, his legs glowing orange once more. "I'm sorry for my abruptness, but… well, bye."

Just like that, Nestor sped away into the forest, leaving Hiccup to sputter with a semi-coherent stream of babble.

"But… What… Er… HEY! Toothless, help!"

Now his dragon friend could actually help him directly. Toothless reared up on his back legs and extended his body all the way up towards Hiccup. His head touched Hiccup's right leg, allowing Hiccup the leverage he needed to unhook his harness and his left leg from the saddle. Leaving the saddle and launcher behind, Toothless gently lowered him to the ground, Hiccup sliding off Toothless's head and safely to the solid dirt below.

Completely losing any remaining relief from surviving his grapple launcher accident, Hiccup tried in vain to spot Nestor out in the forest. But the minute it had taken Hiccup to get free had given Nestor plenty of escape time – he was gone.

"Oh no you don't," said Hiccup. "Not this time, pal. C'mon, Toothless, we're flying after him." When Toothless narrowed his eyes, Hiccup realized what he'd just said and slapped his forehead. Nope, no more flying until they installed another saddle. The Fates' Luck, indeed… whatever that meant.

"All right, we'll run after him." Hiccup proceeded to climb on Toothless's back, already missing the reassuring feel of leather underneath him. "Just don't go too fast."

Toothless swiveled around to face the direction Nestor had run off, but he made no move to follow. He sniffed the ground and shook his head, raising his ears as if hoping to catch a distant clue of their elusive ally. Hiccup knew Toothless had a better sense of smell than a human and far better hearing, but he couldn't track prey through the forest like a bloodhound. Not unless they had some idea as to where he went.

Then it occurred to Hiccup that Toothless had already found Nestor once. That could be their starting point.

"Go to where you found Nestor before," said Hiccup. "Maybe we'll catch a break and he'll be there." He didn't believe that would happen, but it was still worth a go.

With Hiccup clinging tightly to the dragon's neck, Toothless sprinted into the forest, wisely keeping the flying leaps to a minimum. Hiccup wasn't sure what he was going to say or do if he actually caught up to Nestor. But he had to know why the man was on the island – the safety of the village could hinge on that knowledge.

* * *

><p>It wasn't that big an island, and a good chunk of it was mountainous rock with no redeeming value other than its snow-capping qualities. The island was more accessible than before thanks to the growing air-travel industry, but there were still a few places that remained undiscovered in the Berkian wilderness.<p>

Firebeard Peak – the steepest of Berk's mountains, and with nothing of interest on its slopes other than a navigational landmark or two. The base of the mountain had been swallowed up by a thick forest of evergreens, which made approaching it by foot difficult but not impossible.

It also had a cave or two hiding amongst the foliage, much to Hiccup's surprise.

Hiccup's bumpy ride atop Toothless finally came to an end in front of one such cave. It was barely visible, shrouded among the elongated branches crowding the entrance, and it was maybe twelve or thirteen feet high from ground to ceiling. But it was plenty big for something to hide in, certainly something human-sized.

"Oof," muttered Hiccup, sliding off Toothless and straightening his back. "No offense, bud, but ground travel with you is a rough ride." Toothless didn't respond, choosing to sniff the ground around some boot marks in a patch of mud. Hiccup noticed another set closer to the cave, the thick layer of duff on the forest floor obscuring any other tracks. He was definitely no tracker, but it was easy to tell that someone had been here before them.

This part of the forest was fairly lightless, the trees blocking most of the sun and diffusing what little got through. One of the better places to hide on the island – it was almost invisible from the air and had no landing spots for hundreds of yards around.

"You found him here?" asked Hiccup. Toothless waggled an affirmative. Then the dragon eyed the cavern entrance and began to approach it, motioning with his tail for Hiccup to follow.

"Never liked caves," said Hiccup. "All sorts of things live in caves, ninety-nine percent of which I'm pretty sure are poisonous or have sharp teeth or like to eat Vikings… or some combination of the three."

Hiccup's fears were not unfounded. In the past, caves were frequent hiding spots for dragons and you could never know if a cave was dragon-free unless you went in and acted as bait. All known caves on the island were either collapsed, booby-trapped, or guarded if need be. There were a few notable caves that Vikings used to make annuals trips to in order to clear out any unwelcome migrant dragons. It was a good way for a Viking warrior to prove his mettle, or die trying, in the absence of dragon raids.

Hiccup had grown up fearing caves, and it was hard to let that fear go. Just because dragons were no longer the perennial bogeymen of Berk didn't mean there weren't other bogeymen waiting to fill the job vacancy. And it didn't help that Nestor was on the island and had been here already – for all Hiccup knew, he was after something in the cave ahead of them.

Toothless wasn't afraid of the cave, though, and was eagerly pushing his way through the tree cover and into the dim shadows beyond. Not wanting to be left behind, and figuring that a Night Fury was probably the best company you could keep inside a dark cave, Hiccup followed Toothless inside.

The outside sunlight managed to leak into the dank surroundings, making navigation easier but no less foreboding as Hiccup trailed his dragon friend. The air was cooler within but fairly dry. Better yet, they didn't have to go in very far before Toothless came across something of interest, Hiccup almost smacking his nose into the dragon's tail as they came to an abrupt halt.

"A little light, pal?" said Hiccup. Toothless obeyed, spitting a small fireball onto a nearby wall and superheating it to a soft crimson glow. It added more than enough light to see the simple camp spread out on the rocky floor. The cave did go on further, but it narrowed considerably and the ground grew more slick and moist beyond the camp.

Most of the camp was pretty ordinary – a bedroll, a few cooking utensils, some clothing laid out on the rocks. Enough provisions for one person, maybe two. But as Hiccup went about the cave, he came across a few utterly unordinary items… and he recognized them.

An oversized bovine skull with four horns, shining like steel, jagged pieces of metal sticking out from the underside. A leather satchel rested next to it, its contents hidden within. And there was a third object now, resting next to the satchel, wrapped up in a wool blanket. Hiccup could make out a circular shape through the contours of the blanket, but that wasn't what caught his attention.

The object was glowing through the blanket, a soft blue light that seemed both welcoming and disturbing at the same time. It was so faint that he hadn't picked up on it until he was right next to it, but it was hard not to stare at it now. Hiccup found his curiosity rising, feeling the urge to lift up the blanket and examine the object at length. Then he realized that he was already reaching for the blanket and snapped his hand back as a bit of common sense overrode his curiosity. He didn't want to disturb the camp just yet, not until he had located Nestor. Plus it might be some glowy thing you should only touch with ten-foot poles and iron gauntlets. But this newest curiosity intrigued him, adding something else to the list of questions to ask when they eventually found Nestor.

Toothless wasn't interested in the glowing thing. He was sniffing around a large clump of pine needle duff that had been dragged into the cave and spread out into an oval-shaped carpet on the rocky floor. It looked like bedding, and the size of it indicated something large was using it, about the size of a Nightmare. Hiccup thought it might be an out-of-use resting spot for one of Berk's dragons, but the needles were fresh smelling and well organized. Most dragons weren't that neat with their bedding.

Hiccup went over to the bed to examine it further, but the glow from the superheated rock was too faded now to make out more than general shapes. He was about to ask for another light when Toothless suddenly perked up and whirled around, growling a warning towards the entrance. Trusting his friend's senses, Hiccup skidded around behind the dragon and waited for something to happen, not wanting to get between Toothless and whatever was at the cave entrance.

"You sure it's not Nestor?" he asked. Toothless shook his head. No, that would have been too easy, and Toothless wouldn't be on edge. He seemed to like Nestor; why else would Toothless retrieve him to save Hiccup?

Something distorted the light coming from the entrance, like a faint shadow moving across a beam of sunshine, and then Hiccup was feeling that prickly sensation he'd felt two days ago. He felt watched… no, more than that. He felt trapped, like something was standing between him and the entrance. He couldn't see anything, but the feeling was growing more intense as the seconds ticked by.

Toothless felt it as well, his growls growing more threatening by the moment. Hiccup considered moving further into the cave, but Toothless wouldn't be able to follow. Besides, they'd be just as stuck back there, but with less room to maneuver.

Something solid scraped on the rocky floor only a few feet ahead of them, and even in the bad light Hiccup knew he was staring at something. Or, rather, he was staring _through_ something, the dimming light wavering and flowing before him. Toothless was stirred up enough to attack, and Hiccup was getting ready to take cover from the inevitable flame-bath that a fireball in close quarters would produce.

Then the distortion fell away, and suddenly there was another dragon in the cave, blocking the way out. Hiccup recognized the slim body and dark-green scales of the dragon from the Mainland, the one he and Toothless had come to the aid of over a week ago.

Toothless's demeanor changed immediately, his growl dropping and his body relaxing to a point. He stared at the foreign dragon cautiously, perhaps waiting for it to make the first move. But the foreign dragon didn't budge, choosing to stare at both of them with its mouth closed, not threatening but hardly friendly.

Hiccup could now see this brand-new dragon up close. The face was ridged with bony protrusions around the eyes, which were more akin to the eyes of a bird than a reptile. A pair of sizeable ear flags resided behind the eyes, flaps that resembled scales but shifted like dog-ears. Two tiny slits passed for a nose over a large mouth. While there were no tusks or external horns to note, Hiccup caught the gleam of stiletto-sharp teeth when it opened its mouth to yawn. It acted more fatigued than disinterested, but its eyes were solidly fixed on Hiccup, as if expecting something of him.

Hiccup wasn't exactly relieved by this development, but now he was in familiar territory. He'd made friends with lots of dragons over the last two years and he was sure he could befriend another. This species acted highly intelligent, much like Toothless. Hopefully it would respond to his overtures like all the other ones.

"It's okay, Toothless," he said. "I've got this." He motioned for Toothless to back off, which the black dragon did reluctantly. With his hands raised, Hiccup slowly walked toward the foreign dragon, which reacted to Hiccup by lowering its head toward him in a deliberate but non-threatening fashion.

"No weapons," he said. "We're dragon-friendly here. Lots of fish, lots of room to fly around and do what dragons do, lots of friendly people." He got to within a few steps of the dragon and wished he had a fish to use as an offering. But he knew that most dragons were swayed more by kindness than bribery, and he trusted that this one was the same.

He held out his right hand and moved it to within inches of the dragon's face. The dragon didn't flinch, so he kept his eyes forward and waited for a reaction. A friendly dragon would nuzzle it – an unfriendly dragon would try to snap it off.

The actual reaction he got stunned him to no end.

"Apologies, but I'm not familiar with this custom," it said, its deep voice speaking perfect Norse. "Now, what are you doing in this cave?"


	7. Undertow

**Pre-Author's Ugh Note: **If you've read Chapter 3 (One Step Ahead of Disaster) on or after 6/3/11, you can probably skip the following note... unless you really, really want to read it anyway.

**Author's Ugh Note:** Something has been brought to my attention about the chapter titled "One Step Ahead Of Disaster." There may have been some confusion over one particular section, and I have taken pains to fix this - a new version was uploaded the same day I uploaded this new chapter that hopefully clarifies any remaining issues. But it still bears explaining.

In the section of the chapter concerning the airborne battle with the bone abomination (less than halfway through the chapter, after Hiccup and the others decide to go back and help the green dragon but before the section with Nestor battling the skele-bull), the following ideas were meant to be conveyed:

- The section's perspective was from the _green dragon._ There were no other perspectives.

- The black dragon mentioned, the one that came to the green dragon's aid, was _Toothless. _I was hoping that the fact that the black dragon had two riders (you know, Hiccup and Astrid) would be a clue. There were no other dragons.

- The dragon that disappeared at the end of the section was the _green dragon._

If I didn't get these three ideas across, then I blew it. I was trying to be clever at the time and not give away anything too early. You don't need to reread the chapter if you've already done so - just know the three plot points above.

Again, if I didn't get this stuff across, that was my fault, and I always strive not to make such mistakes again.

Onward.

**Chapter Six: Undertow**

Compared to past (and future) shocks, it wasn't even in Hiccup's all-time greatest list. You had to get pretty extreme to top the first time you went airborne while clinging to a dragon's tail or having to face off against a mountain-sized menace. But it was still a big one. Three hundred years of records on dragons, two years of living among them, having a best friend _be_ a dragon…

Nothing, absolutely nothing, about a dragon that could speak like a human.

Considering the magnitude of the revelation, Hiccup felt a bit dismayed that his first response to the dragon's words was: "And now you're talking."

The green dragon rolled its eyes at him. "Fine, fine, get the shock out of the way if you must. But I repeat – what are you doing here?"

Toothless remained on his guard, arching his back and tensed for battle if things went sour. Hiccup backed off from the talking dragon, trying to think of an adequate response to its question. He had played with the idea that the green dragon had been connected to Nestor somehow, but like everything else about that crazy Mainland trip he had had no way to follow up on his ideas. Well, until now.

"Um…. Sorry, we didn't know this was your cave," said Hiccup. "We were looking for somebody else and I thought he came this way."

"Somebody else, right?" said the dragon. It shut its eyes and shook its head, irritated. "Let me guess – black hair, tan skin, semi-indestructible?"

"ARC! ARC!"

The frantic cries echoed into the cave from behind the dragon, the slapping of racing boots on stone following along. "Whoever's in there, don't attack him! And Arc, don't go blasting them either!"

Nestor appeared from around the dragon's bulk, out of breath and panic-stricken. He waved at the group between hurried breaths and said, "Oh, good, no killing going on."

The dragon turned his unhappy gaze on Nestor and said, "You led them here, and you left the cave unattended."

"He was hanging precariously from a tree," defended Nestor, gesturing at Hiccup, "and his dragon barged in and demanded my assistance. I wasn't going to leave him like that. For the record, I did try to lead them away from the cave." He shook his head in dismay. "I shook them off my tail a little too quickly, and our obsidian-scaled friend here has a good memory."

"Night Furies are known for their intelligence," commented the dragon, twisting his head toward Hiccup again. "That is what you call them here, isn't it, Young Hiccup?"

Hiccup was caught off-guard by the dragon's recitation of his name. Then he realized that Nestor had probably told the dragon about him and he relaxed somewhat. "Well, _I_ call him Toothless. But what do we call you? I heard Nestor call you Arc."

"Yes," said Arc, "and for the sake of diplomacy you may call me that as well. My true name is Archibald."

"I told him once that it sounded kind of pompous," said Nestor. "Only time he's ever agreed with me about anything."

"When you stop revealing our locations to bystanders, perhaps it will occur again," said Arc. "Now, Young Hiccup, what did you want with Nestor?"

"I wanted to get some answers from him," said Hiccup, going for the honest approach. "We could start with who you are and what you're doing on our island."

Arc cocked his head, first studying Hiccup for several seconds and then studying Toothless, perhaps to assess how much a threat they might be. Nestor was nervously biting his lip, waiting for Arc's response. But Arc eventually mellowed his gaze and pivoted his body around to face the tunnel leading out. A quick beckoning movement of his tail indicated he wanted everyone else to follow.

Arc led them into the sunlight and stopped a few yards from the cave entrance, turning to face Hiccup and Toothless while Nestor stood at his side. With some actual light to see by, Hiccup picked out the blackened scales that dotted Arc's forest-green torso. Injuries from the bone abomination, no doubt. He was probably still healing from the battle, shedding damaged scales as he grew new ones, which was how most dragons healed up.

"You've given me quite the dilemma, Young Hiccup," said Arc. "It was not our intention to invade your people's sovereign space, but circumstances forced it. Likewise, while normally you would be… detained…as we took our leave, I find myself in your debt for your intervention those many days ago. My protégée and I found ourselves in a rather effective trap, one we would have been hard pressed to survive if not for you. If you wish us to leave your island, we will. And if it is answers you seek, I will give them. However, only knowledge that pertains to your life and longevity will be given."

"Translation: you're on a need-to-know basis," clarified Nestor.

Hiccup was doing his best not to look intimidated by the dragon's sharp gaze and measured words. He wasn't threatened by Arc – even if Toothless wasn't two feet away, he believed Arc meant him no harm. It was more like being in the presence of something profoundly wise and experienced. He got that way around the Village Elder sometimes, especially when she quietly stared at you for minutes on end and made you think your soul was made of runes and that she could read every one of them. Around Arc, that feeling was far worse, like Hiccup was some complex equation that the dragon had solved after only a few seconds of calculation.

One word Arc had said had caught his attention in particular: protégée. No doubt referring to Nestor, Hiccup figured it was another word for apprentice, which didn't make much sense. What kind of skill or trade could a dragon teach a human? Certainly not flying lessons. Then again, what kind of dragon talked?

"I… uh…" he stammered. Then he took a deep breath and continued without the hesitation, trying to ignore Arc's scrutinizing stare. "Okay, let's start with whether or not your presence here jeopardizes Berk."

"We've deliberately kept away from your village," answered Arc. "If we continue to do so, your village will not be attacked… at least, not from _our_ enemies."

"You haven't stayed away, though," accused Hiccup. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but Snotlout was right – he _did_ see something flying around two days ago. That was you, wasn't it, with your invisibility-thing going on."

"It's called Shrouding, not invisibility-thing, but yes, that was me," Arc admitted, almost looked remorseful for the deception but not quite succeeding before his face grew cold again. "Though my Shroud makes me difficult to see, it's not one hundred percent effective, nor does it block my scent or other potential clues to my presence. I was scouting the island before bringing Nestor here, and I did watch you and your fellow Norse for a time. But that was merely to determine if your activities would conflict with our plans, which they did not."

Hiccup didn't like being spied on, but at least Arc was willing to fess up to it. Plus he wasn't feeling brave enough to scold a powerful dragon on matters of privacy, so he moved on from the topic.

"If you're not here for Berk," he asked, "then why _are_ you here?"

"We're doing a search, Young Hiccup," said Arc, his tail gesturing out toward the ocean. "More accurately, _I'm_ doing the searching. It involves long hours of flying in frigid conditions, and it is not pleasant. This island is the only halfway hospitable piece of land in the region, though there are a few others we could try out if you are uncomfortable with us staying here."

"And I'd rather not try those places out," said Nestor. "I'm grounded while he's flying around. By the by, does it ever get warmer here?"

Hiccup shrugged. "Actually, we're having a heat wave right now."

Nestor frowned and hugged himself. "Distressing."

"Our business will conclude within a couple of weeks," continued Arc. "If we don't find our objective soon, there will be little reason to stay and we will leave as quietly as we came."

"Can I ask what you're after?" said Hiccup. "It's not another one of those big bone things, is it?"

"_That_ is not for you to know, and for your own safety that is the way it must remain."

"I wasn't very safe back in Tempest Point," pointed out Hiccup.

"Tempest Point was my fault," said Nestor. "The Guardian came after me and…"

"Nestor!" warned Arc.

"Ah… yeah, need-to-know, Hiccup," backpedaled Nestor. "What Arc is saying is that we won't be repeating Tempest Point because the factors that led up to it don't exist here. Really, your people are safe as long as we keep our distance."

Hiccup wasn't reassured that much, though he was now intrigued by Nestor's accidental namedrop. Guardian – the skele-bull thing? Guardian of what, exactly? It was probably something to do with the satchel that Nestor had retrieved during the battle, the one now residing inside the cave.

"All right, I'll take your word on it for now," said Hiccup, sounding less convincing than he intended to sound. As that subject was a dead end for further questions, Hiccup asked the second-most pressing one instead. "So what kind of dragon are you?"

"If you mean my species, then I'm commonly known as a Thunderchild," said Arc, "though, given time, I'm confident you Norse will come up with a less-flattering name."

He raised his forward-right limb and began to generate a small current of blue lightning that jumped between his claws as if it was alive. Arc let the current grow in strength, several more threads of electricity dancing in his hand like excited snakes. Hiccup found it memorizing and almost beautiful… for the fleeting second before Arc closed his hand around it. Then there was a sudden flash of blinding light and Hiccup felt like something shocking had just passed through him, leaving him tingling as if his entire body had fallen asleep and was now waking back up. His hair was also standing on end and resisting his attempts to smooth it.

Toothless hadn't liked the sensation and growled his displeasure at Arc. Nestor wasn't happy either, trying to pat down his own hair and saying, "Did you really need to show off, old man?"

"Just demonstrating our natural power," said Arc, not in the least bit apologetic. "Dragons of my ilk live very far to the south and east. I have very little in common with them, however, as I am a Hyperion."

Arc's prideful use of this title or name indicated he held it in high esteem. It fell flat with Hiccup. "Which means what?" he asked.

"It means that if you attempted a conversation with another Thunderchild, you would get a blank stare for a response. It means that I am an anomaly, one of only a few in the world. And once again, the rest of the story is not for your ears."

"Wait a minute! You can't just say something like that and then clam up!"

"He can," said Nestor tiredly. "He really, really can."

"I merely wished to remove any false assumptions about my species," said Arc, "in case you ever encounter another Thunderchild. I didn't want them unduly pestered by your questions."

Whatever awe Hiccup had for Arc was rapidly changing to irritation, but he resisted telling the dragon off. "Okay, one more question." He directed this one at Nestor. "What exactly is your deal?"

Nestor looked up at Arc with a flippant smile. "You'll allow me to answer this one?"

Arc nodded his head calmly. "Please do. Feel free to continue answering the boy's inquiries, though I trust you to use discretion. As for me, I am spent from many hours in the air. I was intending to get some sleep before I encountered our guests in our cave. I have too many things to do and I require rest to continue doing them."

He turned his ancient eyes back on Hiccup, once again making him feel very underqualified to be dealing with the dragon. "But I must know two things first, Young Hiccup. Will you expose us to your people, and will you let us stay?"

Honestly, Hiccup was in a yes-to-the-first, no-to-the-second frame of mind after his conversation with Arc. Again, Arc didn't come off as a threat – just as a jerk. And if the dragon didn't see fit to share his plans with someone he claimed to owe his life to, well, he could go live on an ice flow for all Hiccup cared.

But there was also Nestor. He was looking away from Hiccup and trying to hide the plea in his eyes. Nestor wasn't in charge here, far from it, and he clearly respected Arc's leadership role. Nestor would suffer if they left, that was for certain. Hiccup knew the other islands in the area – they made Berk look tropical.

Beyond compassion, there was a part of Hiccup that believed that it was better to have Nestor and Arc closer than further away. That insane part of him that yearned for answers, that foolish part of him that never knew when to leave things alone, was telling him to keep these two around.

"I won't tell them, not unless I have to," said Hiccup, "and… you can stay until you finish your whatever-it-is."

Arc's gaze softened as he gave a polite nod and quickly slunk into the cave without even a goodbye, though Hiccup thought he heard an echo from the cave a few seconds later._ I__t hasn't even been a day yet_ was what it sounded like.

"Ah, yeah," said Nestor, once Arc had retreated to the cave, "he might come off as cold, aloof, condescending and irritable…and… um… So what was your question again?"

Hiccup barely heard him. He felt like he had just added one more burden to his already overtaxed shoulders, and he leaned on Toothless as it hit him. He was going to lie to his friends and family… again. He even agreed to it. Maybe he _was_ a very stupid person.

"I… I don't need this," said Hiccup. "I mean, I _really_ don't need this. I had put this all behind me already. I shelved my metal knick-knacks and I put my heart and soul into training a dragon squad capable of saving my village from a war. But no, there's not enough trouble in my life already. So I almost die today from my own prototype misfiring, I find you guys running around the island like the harbingers of Ragnarok, and I still have to lead hand signal practice tonight!"

"Sounds stressful," replied Nestor, taking a seat on a nearby rotting stump and trying to look understanding.

"Yes, stressful," continued Hiccup. "You know, I told _everyone_ about what happened on the Mainland. Their reaction was a collective shrug with a few warnings thrown in about being too curious. Maybe I should just tell them about you two. Maybe I'll get the same reaction."

"Except you don't believe that," said Nestor.

"Except I don't believe that," agreed Hiccup. "The only thing that was higher on our no-no list than dragons was sorcery, or what we affectionately call deviltry. That's what's going on here, isn't it? Arc talking, you doing your… thing… Tell me I'm wrong."

Nestor shrugged and waggled his hands. "There's some truth to your thinking. I certainly wouldn't call it deviltry. I didn't make any deals with the Underworld… just with Mr. Irritable." He nodded at the cave entrance. "It wasn't even my choice at the time… and that's probably the most I can say about it because…"

"Because it's need-to-know!" shot back Hiccup, his temper flaring. He threw his hands up and began crawling back on top of Toothless. "We're just going around in circles. Forget it. Forget all of it. My life's got plenty of problems already, and I have to leave now so that I'm only slightly late getting back home. Let's get out of here, buddy."

Toothless didn't even take a step before Nestor was standing in front of the dragon, blocking his path. There was a serious glint in the man's eyes all of sudden that unsettled Hiccup, a change in demeanor from his cavalier attitude. Nestor seemed a lot like Arc at that moment, and not in a good way.

"Let me say one thing, and then I will step out of the way," said Nestor. It was not a request. Toothless growled softly and glared at Nestor, but Hiccup soothed him and waved his acquiescence to Nestor to avoid a confrontation.

Realizing that he might have come off too strong, Nestor relaxed as he began to speak. "Arc doesn't have much faith in humanity. Not that I have a great deal more than he does, but I like to believe there are people I can trust. Perhaps I haven't earned any trust from you, as I'm sure I've come off rather erratic in my actions, but you should trust me when I say that our continuing silence is for your benefit. Arc likes to color it in high ideals, but it really comes down to one goal: sparing you from sharing our path."

"I don't want to share it," said Hiccup. "I just want to understand it."

Nestor shook his head solemnly. "Doesn't work that way. The world you live in is not mine, Hiccup. The world you know may have two-headed dragons but things still have familiarity. Things still make sense. But then you have this other hidden world, with its buried secrets and abominations and, yes, a lot of deviltry thrown in. There's a line between the two worlds, Hiccup, but you can't see it. That line has a power of its own – it pulls you toward it like an undertow in the ocean. It pulls you in with temptation and knowledge; it makes you think you're about to discover something incredible.

"Then, without knowing it, you cross the line. For a time, it really _is_ incredible. So many mysteries, so many adventures… it's like the world is bright and brand new again. But then you realize this new world has some pretty dark spots, threats no one in your world can even imagine. You want to cross back, maybe you even try to once or twice, but you can't. The undertow has you. You can see the other side, your old life. You can wave to it, even cry out to it, but you'll never get back there…ever."

Nestor backed away from Toothless, but he kept his solemn gaze steady on Hiccup. "If you enjoy your life, Hiccup… if you're even in any way content with it, then go home to your village, pretend we don't exist, and don't come back to this cave. We'll be out of your life very shortly, one way or another."

Before forcing himself to discard fanciful thinking and focus on village priorities, Hiccup had come up with a lot of theories about Nestor. Witch, devil, a god walking the earth, some bizarre offspring of the above – he'd exhausted all the possibilities he knew of. But after that speech, he knew there wasn't anything different about Nestor that mattered.

Hiccup knew because he understood alienation. He understood loneliness.

Not knowing what else to say, Hiccup quietly prodded Toothless to go. The dragon gave a parting look to Nestor, as if saying goodbye, and then took off for Berk. They rode in silence the whole way, Hiccup occupied by the myriad conundrums and conflicts in his head.

* * *

><p>Twilight had fallen over Berk by the time Hiccup returned home, torchlights illuminating the village and casting waving shadows upon the ground. Aching all over from the long ride, he set Toothless loose to go get dinner while he headed for the Great Hall and signal training. He was in absolutely no mood for this after today. He had always scolded the others when they showed up even five minutes late; he had to be at least twenty minutes overdue. They were going to have a field day with him.<p>

He didn't even get to the door before one more surprise managed to hunt him down. This one was in the form of a trio of strangers who had been loitering near the door, standing around as if they were waiting for someone. The deliberateness of their approach as he arrived meant that they were waiting for him. He realized, with no small amount of dismay, that they were Gunnarr.

Well, two of them were stereotypical Gunnarr, beefy guys in their warrior outfits and brandishing evil-looking two-handed axes. The third one, the one in the middle, was far slimmer and far more feminine, though the gray cloak that covered her figure made a better description impossible. Her cloak's hood covered most of her face, with only her lips and shadowed chin visible.

"Hold!" she demanded, her smooth voice carrying authority as wicked as the axes her companions wielded. "Are you the Dragon Rider? You match his description."

Suddenly feeling like he had a bull's-eye on his forehead, Hiccup looked around for assistance. There were voices coming from the Hall and a few other Berkians walking around, though none close enough to intervene very quickly. Then again, there wasn't anything hostile about these three Gunnarr… outside of the fact that they were Gunnarr. Did their presence mean the summit was starting early? That would not be good.

"I'm _a_ Dragon Rider," said Hiccup. "A lot of us ride dragons here, you know."

"Your people may ride dragons," said the woman, "but there is only one Dragon Rider. The first one, the destroyer of Red Death."

"Well, if you describe it that way, then that would be me," said Hiccup, not sure if he was about to be honored or served up on a platter.

"Then I formally greet you, Dragon Rider," said the cloaked woman, though she didn't offer her hand or soften her voice. "I wished to meet you before retiring for the night. I have heard many… interesting… things about you."

"Well, if I'm anything, I'm interesting," said Hiccup. "And you are?"

"Forgive me, I assumed you were more familiar with Gunnarr customs and would recognize me by my garb. I am the Seer, and I've come to inspect your village's accommodations before the summit."

Hiccup tried to keep his eyes from spreading wide, feeling again uncomfortable and off-balance. This was _the_ Seer – the one-and-only. While happy to hear that the summit hadn't been moved up, he was mystified by the Seer's arrival ahead of the meeting, or that she didn't have fifty Gunnarr guards around her. He honestly knew little about the title of Seer other than the Gunnarr had had one around for almost two centuries and that the Seer was afforded as much respect as the clan chieftain. But like most subjects that didn't involve the word _dragon_, Hiccup hadn't paid attention to the legends surrounding the Seer, figuring it was a matter for more interested Vikings.

"Welcome to our village, then," said Hiccup, not knowing what protocol to go by and hoping this conversation would end very shortly.

For the second time that day, Hiccup felt like he was being sized up, though the feeling was fleeting this time around. The Seer gave away nothing as she nodded curtly and began walking away with her bodyguards in tow.

"We will talk again, undoubtedly, before my stay is done here," she said, her parting words before disappearing into the village.

_Nothing more today, please,_ Hiccup mentally begged the Gods. _When I walk into the Hall, please don't let there be any five-headed snakes or flying codfish or anything weirder than normal. Would that be too much to ask?_

"There you are!" were the first words to greet Hiccup as he threw open the doors. The rest of the Dragon Squad were at their assigned table, though Astrid was already on her feet and approaching him with a look that successfully combined anger and concern without overdoing it on either. "I was about ready to get on Beatrix and go looking for you."

"Sorry about that," said Hiccup, walking with Astrid back to the table. "I just got back, and then this cloaked lady held me up at the door."

"The Seer?" said Astrid. "She was asking about you a few minutes ago. She got in earlier today, just her and her bodyguards. What'd she want with you?"

"I think she's just curious if the boy matches the legend," he replied. "Otherwise, I don't know what she was after."

"We were talking about what her face must look like under that cloak," said Tuffnut. "I bet she has holes for eyes."

"I think she's all shriveled up," said Snotlout. "If the Gunnarr have had a Seer around for two centuries, maybe it's always been the same one. Maybe the Gods keep her alive to…"

"Hold that thought, Snotlout," said Astrid. "Hiccup, where did you come back from?"

Here it was, the moment Hiccup had been dreading the whole ride back to Berk. Even though he had come to a decision minutes before arriving at the Hall, a new wave of doubt was threatening to wash away his decisiveness. But like any good Viking, he stubbornly stood firm on his decision and began to tell the others what had happened.

He told the truth… to a point. He omitted pretty much everything after getting out of the tree and gave himself credit for manning up and pulling the release lever. Toothless had never left the base of the tree, refusing to abandon him. The names of Nestor and Arc never came out of his lips. It was one long story about his tinkering project, now a lot less secret.

Reactions were what he expected. Most of the gang gave him the _That's Hiccup_ treatment, giving him the appropriate measure of grief without becoming mean about it (though Snotlout came close with his comment about how they might have gotten out of squad training if Hiccup had been a smidge dumber with his launcher). Fishlegs was pleased to be able to rib Hiccup for a change, and Astrid was just relieved that he'd come out of it okay, though she did get in a sucker punch to the shoulder at the end of signal practice for trying to keep secrets from her again.

Exhausted and mentally wrung out, Hiccup hoped the morning would bring greater clarity, because he was really afraid of where things were going to go from here. He did have the presence of mind to stop by Gobber's shop to retrieve a spare saddle and a few tools required for installation. He'd have to get up earlier than usual tomorrow to get Toothless flight-ready again.

As soon as he stepped into the store, the little dragon skull under Gobber's workbench that had been a secret voyeur for the last several days began taking note of his movements. Then it noticed something more important – the glow coming off of the young man. Oh, it wasn't an obvious glow, not something that could be seen by the human eye or even a dragon's eye. It took special sight in the right mystical wavelength to spot this kind of energy residue. The little skull could not only see it, but could recognize the signature of the energy aura.

The human had been in close proximity to its master's sworn enemy. There was no doubt.

It opened up a mystical conduit to its master and began to have a lengthy discussion with him.

* * *

><p>Morning did not bring clarity, but work brought distraction, so Hiccup dove into his work.<p>

With Toothless equipped with a spare saddle and the weather looking like it might start spitting rain any minute, Hiccup switched things up and had the squad do their live-fire practice first. He always went last, since Toothless needed the least amount of practice, which left him in a circling pattern above everyone else with too much to think about.

At least the Seer was absolutely not his problem. He even asked his dad about her before starting squad training. His exact words: "Not your problem, son." Yay. The only drawback coming from her direction was that everyone had to avoid talking about squad training in public. They didn't want the Gunnarr getting wind of the squad's plans too early and possibly preparing for it.

The day was still early, the sun creeping up from the seascape and fighting with the distant fog for attention. Hiccup was fighting his own fog as well, trying to find some inner resolution to his turmoil.

"What am I doing, Toothless?" muttered Hiccup. Even though Toothless had perked up to listen, Hiccup wasn't really talking to him. Good, patient Toothless was often the passive listener for when Hiccup needed to unburden himself, the dragon waggling his head to signal his attentiveness.

"Whom am I protecting here?" he went on. "The village? Nestor and Arc? Myself? I don't want to start lying to everyone again. It didn't turn out so well last time. But… somehow, I don't think the ones needing protection are Nestor and Arc."

Toothless was drifting out towards the ocean as Hiccup continued to ruminate aloud, the waters settled and clear. They were getting away from the practice range, but Toothless could correct that in a heartbeat and so Hiccup wasn't worried about it.

"Something's up, Toothless, and it has to be major. I knew that back on the Mainland and I know it now. But the village needs me focused on this and Nestor doesn't want my help anyway. Maybe it's for the best that we go our separate ways." Hiccup sighed and shook his head. "So why don't I believe it?"

With the sea as calm as it was this morning, his attention was easily drawn to a series of vertical water sprays not far off the coast. The tight cluster and repeating pattern suggested a pod of whales moving by. He knew about whales, had seen a pod of them spouting about during a longboat trip when he was younger, but had never seen any around Berk. Dragons and whales weren't exactly on speaking terms with each other. Perhaps the whales sensed that things were different now.

"Look at that, Toothless," said Hiccup, though he didn't need to point it out as Toothless's head was already turned toward the sprays. "I could use a distraction right about now. Don't fly too close, though. We don't want to spook them."

Naturally curious as well, Toothless glided over toward the sprays and descended to within a few dozen feet of the ocean surface. Hiccup kept his eyes on the spraying action, relishing the prospect of seeing the large creatures for the first time in years. It felt like a good omen to witness the whales' passage, and he could really use a good omen right about now.

They closed to within a hundred feet, the still water allowing for an obscurity-free view underwater. And at that moment, Hiccup's piece of mind broke into a million parts.

They were not whales. Nowhere close to them. To emphasize how not-whale they were, they launched themselves out of the sea, water exploding outward in all directions, and came right at him.

* * *

><p>Two sets of hidden eyes watched the Dragon Squad go through their routine, well masked by the immensely useful power of the Shroud. They were parked on a nearby rock formation well away from the practice range and any potential stray fireballs. They kept as motionless as possible, as the Shroud was nigh undetectable when no movement was being conducted.<p>

Nestor leaned against Arc as they watched the Berkians fly about, happy to have the dragon's body heat available but not thrilled with the odor. As dragons went, Arc was fastidious about his hygiene, but he still had a natural musk that grated on Nestor's olfactory. There was no way to share the Shroud except by touch, however, and if Nestor didn't have a barrier field perpetually surrounding his body he wouldn't even be able to share it.

Shrouding took getting used to. Not knowing where your body was, seeing through your eyelids, staying aware of your movements – Arc had had a long time to perfect his Shrouding techniques, Nestor not so much.

"I'm still baffled," commented Nestor.

"By?" replied Arc.

"By why you took me out for an air show."

Nestor couldn't really see Arc shrug, but he figured the dragon just did. "I thought you could use a distraction. You've seemed moodier than usual, I assume due to your parting discussion with the boy."

Nestor didn't think he was being all that moody. Yes, he hated having to "do the right thing" and scare Hiccup away from returning. Yes, he might have just ruined a potential friendship with someone who wasn't afraid of dragons and inexplicable powers. Yes, he hated his life at the moment, the perpetual pattern of waiting, fighting, and running that had become his existence…

_Salo krebit,_ he really _was_ moody.

Watching the Berkians flying around, trading good-natured insults and jokes with each other as they practiced formations and frying innocent dummies, wasn't doing much for his spirits. Mostly it was reminding him of that other world that he couldn't touch any longer. The one that he either endangered or got endangered by every time he tried to interact with it. Still, Arc's heart was in the right place and he wasn't going to ruin the sentiment by speaking his mind.

"You do realize you're doing a nice thing, you know," he said.

"Yes. Don't get used to it. I'd prefer you learn to Shroud yourself so I don't have to be bothered."

"Been practicing every day, Arc. Turned my left pinky invisible this morning for maybe two seconds."

"Ah, progress," commented Arc.

If he didn't know better, Nestor could have sworn that Arc was paying attention to the antics of the Berkians as well. There wasn't much that interested the old man beyond his self-proclaimed Hyperion duties and his quest-of-the-week. Nestor was surprised by Arc's behavior this morning, choosing to carry Nestor to the other side of the island for an impromptu air show rather than take off at dawn for another day of reconnaissance. Nestor knew there was a softer side to Arc; he just figured it was buried under ten layers of scales and that you had to break a hundred axe heads to get at it.

Nestor was focusing on the black dragon, Toothless, and his young rider as they flew away from the others and toward the ocean. He couldn't help but wonder if he could have handled thing better with Hiccup. The Fates seemed determined to toss their fortunes in together. Two chance encounters in a very short time period, miles away from each other – it was hard not to consider the possibility that Hiccup was _supposed_ to be a part of this.

Well, the Fates could go cut someone else's lifespan short for a change. This was as close as Nestor got to the Berkians. He wasn't dragging Hiccup or anyone else into this affair. Not as long as…

The remainder of his musings were dumped and abandoned as he watched the black dragon approach something in the water. Then he was standing, pulling away from Arc and accidentally dropping his Shroud as he stared wide-eyed at the unfolding nightmare before him.

"By the Fates, what is…? ULP!"

Arc was already grabbing him from behind and lifting off into the air, Nestor's Shroud reasserting itself as they arrowed toward the battle. As baffled as Nestor was by the sudden turn of events, he was even more baffled at Arc's reaction. No comment, no surprise, just grabbing Nestor and immediately rushing to action… as if he'd been anticipating it.

Then it hit him. No wonder Arc's morning surprise threw him. In the many years Nestor had known his dragon mentor, he'd never known him to change a course without reason, never rest unless required, and never do anything spontaneous unless there was a plan behind it. This little outing hadn't been for Nestor's benefit – Arc had known something was going to happen. While Arc had his share of talents, prophecy was not one of them. The only way he could have known about it… was if he had helped push it into happening.

_What did you do, old man?_ Nestor angrily thought as he was carried into the fray.

* * *

><p>If the things bursting out of the ocean had ever worn dragon scales over their pearly-white bones, Hiccup would have eaten his other foot. They were more a mockery of dragons than modeled after them. They were all similar, featuring four working limbs and a spine covered in ribs and barbs and two wings and a gruesome tooth-filled draconian head, but they had the same hodgepodge composition as the bone abomination from before. Leg bones combined to arm bones, vertebrate connected to finger bones, ribs made of a hundred teeth stuck together by some unnaturally strong glue.<p>

But they moved like dragons, flapped their wings like dragons, and screamed like dragons as they ascended. Their cries were artificial, like something alien was trying to speak dragon but couldn't get the inflection right. Their joints worked, their limbs bent, and their jaws widened as they approached Toothless. They were about Toothless's size, maybe smaller, and their eyes weren't empty sockets like they should have been but dark spots filled with an inky blackness that quivered in the sunlight.

"Oh, Gods!" yelled Hiccup. Toothless had let out his own frightened cry, though that didn't stop him from quickly banking away as the skele-dragons pursued. Hiccup took a count and got an even dozen skele-dragons. They were spreading out and keeping him from heading back to the coast, forcing Toothless further out to sea.

Hiccup tried to keep tabs on the skele-dragons as Toothless sped away, and he watched as half of them split from the main group and headed for the Wasteland. Going after his friends, probably, though it was pretty clear that he was their main target. They had drawn him out with their fake-whale act, enticing his curiosity. How long had they been there, under the sea, waiting for him to come by?

For not having any skin on their wings, the skele-dragons were remarkably good at keeping up with Toothless. Three of them were practically on top of him, their open mouths glowing a dire obsidian shade as they unleashed bolts of black flame that sizzled the air as they passed.

Toothless was twisting and jinxing in mid-air, evading the bolts and flipping himself upside down, Hiccup holding on for dear life, as he angled his head and fired a blue bolt right into the kisser of the closest skele-dragon. The thing's skull exploded into smoldering fragments, the bony body spiraling out of control and into the ocean.

"Yeah!" cheered Hiccup. "Two more at eleven o'clock."

Toothless spotted the second and third ones converging on him. He banked upward, right between the two threats, throwing them into confusion as they attempted to follow. Toothless didn't give them that chance, lobbing two more bolts into their respective heads. Two more monstrosities fell from the sky into the sea.

Hiccup almost managed another cheer before the next three skele-dragons were upon them. Toothless's stunning move had cost him speed, allowing the other monsters to catch up. But these ones weren't firing at him. No, these ones had something else in mind.

Two of them rammed into Toothless from behind, each one clamping onto a wing and holding it in place. Hiccup watched, helpless, as Toothless screamed in anger and writhed and twisted in their embrace. They could have crippled Toothless at this point, could have swiped Hiccup from his seat or burned them to cinders with their black fire, but they chose instead to force Toothless's wings into a level position, keeping him airborne mere feet above the waves.

One of the skele-dragons leered at Hiccup, its eyes nothing but black holes that churned with malice. The thing had no way to smile, having no lips, but Hiccup figured it was smiling just the same. But it made no move against him, choosing to just look at him. If Hiccup had a club or war hammer he might have smashed the thing right then, but for all he knew that might have only made it mad. Plus its companion would have fried him in an instant.

Toothless had twisted his head around as far as possible, firing off another bolt that obliterated the left leg of one of the skele-dragons. The skele-dragon didn't seem to care. It was the head that mattered with these things and Toothless couldn't turn far enough to hit them. He couldn't shake them off, either, as they were physically holding his wings in place and forcing him to fly straight.

The third skele-dragon landed on top of Toothless, its rib cage hanging menacingly over Hiccup like the jaws of a predator preparing to snap down on its lunch. For several seconds it sat there on Toothless, content to ride the beleaguered dragon over the ocean. Then it began to tremble, as if suffering a seizure, its bones coming loose and splitting at the joints and connections. Except the bones weren't coming loose all the way, choosing instead to roll and fumble over each other instead of falling off.

The other two skele-dragons contorted as well, some of the bones in their limbs and ribs scattering and crawling over each other like a horde of worms. They snaked by Hiccup, colliding with the bones from the other skele-dragons and reconnecting into a new form, one big interconnecting shape that grew around Toothless and Hiccup, imprisoning them within a web of bones. They formed a narrow arch over Hiccup. They formed a lattice of braces that held Toothless's wings in place, rolling up to his neck to prevent it from twisting upward. Their skulls were now grotesque adornments that made Toothless look like he was carrying around the trophies of past kills.

When the bones finally ceased their movements, they had become one horrid bone-cage for Hiccup and Toothless, a flying bone-cage at that. Toothless growled and struggled as hard as he could, but couldn't break free of it.

Hiccup had barely any time to even panic and start pounding on the cage with his fists before the next terror hit. This time it was in the form of a tiny skull that was floating toward him, a little skull that had to have come from a Terrible Terror. Hiccup saw it squeeze through the bony bars of his cage and hover before him, its eyes as dark and deadly as its bigger brethren.

The little skull's eyes began to pulsate, the black spreading outward and taking the shape of a human face. Brighter colors spread throughout the face, filling in features and details until the image was recognizable of that of a man almost as skeletal as the dragon bones surrounding Toothless.

The image was translucent and intangible, Hiccup waving his hand through it and feeling only a touch of intense cold. The image didn't seem to care, a grim expression on his face that chilled Hiccup further.

"Greetings, Hiccup," said the man. "I know that this isn't the friendliest way to make your acquaintance, but as you can see from my appearance, I'm not one to go out in public often. You may call me Cervantes, and I will only take up a few minutes of your time."

"Is that because I only have a few minutes left to live?" asked Hiccup. If the last several days hadn't just happened, Hiccup might have begun to freak out right about now. As it was, talking to an ancient-looking old man through a magic skull was… well, very creepy but not worthy of a freak-out. He was more afraid of the man's intentions toward him and Toothless.

"I do not desire your death, Hiccup," answered the face. "Nor that of your dragon. The Void is patient and claims all things in time. What I desire is information, and I believe you possess it. You've been in contact with the dragon named Archibald. I need to know where you met with him."

"Who?" said Hiccup. "Name doesn't ring any bells." He was hoping the innocent dumb kid approach might work here, but he didn't expect it to. Cervantes already knew his name – he probably knew he was anything but dumb.

The old man's eyes narrowed dangerously. "This is not the time for feigning ignorance, child, nor should you feel any desire to be heroic. This matter is not for you to involve yourself in. I merely ask for you to do what comes easily to the human race: to stand out of the way and not get involved."

"Oh, you meant _that _Archibald," said Hiccup, changing tactics. "You're out of luck there. He came and left a few days ago. He thought the village was a little too cramped for his style."

"Child, while time for me is infinite, my patience is not," said Cervantes. "I know you're lying. Now, one final time: tell me where you met him." The threat in his tone made it clear he was done with the pleasantries.

Hiccup didn't know what was really going on, and he barely knew anything about Nestor, but he was still rooting for him. Even Arc was more pleasant than this guy. No, it was easy to see that giving this guy anything he asked for was a bad idea. So Hiccup crossed his arms and shook his head at Cervantes, bracing himself for a session of personal injury for his refusal.

But it didn't happen. Instead, Hiccup felt Toothless go into a dive all of sudden, the bones shifting along his wings and forcing him down. The dragon struggled in vain, unable to budge the mystical bone constraints on his wings. The flowing surface of the ocean was growing closer by the second. They slowed, still moving forward but at a snail's pace for a flyer. They'd be stalling under normal circumstances, but the bones' power was apparently stall-proof.

Ten feet, five feet, two feet, skimming it, and then down into the water. They quickly sunk into the brisk, salty brine up to Hiccup's saddle, leaving most of Toothless underwater. His head was prohibited by the bone brace from surfacing, Toothless beginning to panic along with Hiccup as Cervantes's intentions become obvious.

"He's a thief, understand," said Cervantes, seemingly oblivious and uncaring in regards to the thrashing dragon underneath his disembodied image. "Archibald has something that's rightfully mine. I wish to get it back. Defending thieves is frowned upon in all societies, even yours."

"Please don't do this!" pleaded Hiccup, his fear for Toothless rising as the dragon's struggles intensified. "I don't know anything that can help you!"

"A dragon like yours has maybe, what, two good minutes of oxygen in his lungs, maybe less?" taunted Cervantes. "A slow trip to the Void is never easy to watch, especially when you can prevent it."

"Please, stop!"

"You know how to stop it, Hiccup."

"How do I know you'll let us go?" He could already feel his will beginning to break down. He knew in his heart that he didn't believe Toothless's life wasn't worth keeping Arc's location secret, but that didn't mean Cervantes would let them go afterwards. He also knew that betraying Nestor and Arc's location would make things worse. Anything that gave this monster what he wanted would make things worse.

"You don't," said Cervantes, smirking, "though, again, I do not desire your death. But it doesn't matter – you'll tell me. You'll tell me because a chance at life is better than no chance. Humans always take that chance, even when it runs counter to common sense. You're going to tell me, Hiccup. The question that remains is how much you're willing to lose before you do."


	8. Standards

**Author's Note (Yep, Another One):** If you're reading this after 6/24/11, then the sum total of this note is essentially blah, blah, blah. Skip it.

Next week I'll be going on (gasp) a vacation. Someplace coastal and away from an Internet access. So there will be no update next Friday. I **may** decide to do the update on the following Monday (6/20/11), but it depends on how much writing I get done next week. If nothing shows up on that date, then expect my usual update on 6/24/11. After that, for the rest of the summer I should be back to a once-a-week thing again.

Onwards.

**Chapter Seven: Standards **

It was impossible for Astrid to miss the skele-dragon flight taking wing, considering the deluge of alien screeches and splashing and other frenetic sounds coming from the sea. She'd been in the middle of an attack run when she heard the commotion, her mouth dropping upon the sight of Hiccup and Toothless surrounded by a dozen airborne horrors.

She didn't have time to consider all the implications of the skele-dragons' arrival or why they were going after Hiccup. There was no hesitation – there never was when it came to Hiccup. She whirled Beatrix around and headed straight in to engage, but she wouldn't be there quickly enough. For some reason Hiccup had flown off on his own over the ocean. At her best speed she needed half-a-minute to reach him.

"Everyone on me!" she yelled, her left arm signaling for the others to join formation. And they came as fast as they could, Snotlout gliding Fenrir alongside her with Fishlegs and the twins not far behind.

Snotlout gaped at the unfolding spectacle ahead of him and said, "Okay, I officially believe you guys now."

"You didn't before?" shot back Astrid.

"Well, not one-hundred percent. I mean, c'mon, flying bones?"

"So you didn't say anything because…"

"I was trying to be supportive?" Snotlout sheepishly offered.

"Alright, live targets!" shouted Tuffnut as his Zippleback caught up to Astrid's other flank.

"I think they're dead," replied Ruffnut.

"Yeah, 'dead targets' doesn't have the same ring," he rebutted.

"Am I the only one freaking out right now?" shouted Fishlegs, pulling Chomps even with Fenrir. "Those things have to be breaking at least fifteen laws of physics just by existing."

"Everyone, focus!" demanded Astrid. Toothless was retreating out to sea and taking half the undead flyers with him. The other half was coming at her and the squad. Toothless was outnumbered six to one – he needed the most help. Hopefully the others could handle the incoming assailants while she assisted Hiccup and Toothless.

But then the first several opening shots flew by, balls of black flame as dark as the midnight sky. The squad's professional cohesion lasted a total of five seconds before the others were banking off or diving away without signaling their intentions or picking targets. Snotlout did the best, chasing after one skele-dragon while another one tailed him. Fishlegs panicked as his Gronckle spun around in a desperate circle to shake off a very persistent skele-dragon. Ruff and Tuff were split on which of the two skele-dragons harassing them they should take out first, their Zippleback going evasive but getting smacked once in the tail with a glancing bolt. Hearing both heads screech in pain simultaneously did not produce a good experience.

Astrid held on tight to her mount's reigns as Beatrix twisted to evade an incoming bolt, corrected, and then coated the monster's bony head with streaming flames as they passed one another. The bone-dragon broke off its attack and was quickly consumed by the fiery assault, crashing to the ground and breaking apart.

Astrid had a clear path to Hiccup, but her friends were all in trouble. From her vantage point, it looked like Toothless was handling things, already sending one of the skele-dragons into the ocean. The others needed her right now, and she was Second-in-Command after all. She couldn't abandon them.

Hoping she wasn't underestimating the threat to Toothless, she had Beatrix pursue Snotlout's tailing adversary, mostly because Snotlout was so intent on having Fenrir roast the skele-dragon he was chasing that he wasn't watching his rear. She kept him from being blackened alive with a precise shot to the thing's spine that nearly cut it in two, right about the same time Fenrir scored a hit on his own target, burning off one of its legs.

"Yeah, that's what I'm call cookin' with fire," shouted Snotlout as Fenrir finished off the monster with two more fire-streams, still not bothering to notice the flaming remains of his pursuer slowly plummeting to the rocks below him.

Fishlegs had somehow dealt with his own threat, so Astrid went to the twins' aid. Remarkably, they already had the situation in hand.

"Will you trust me for once?" Tuffnut yelled at his sister. "It'll work."

"_Not_ trusting your judgment has kept me alive this long," replied Ruffnut, "but I'm out of better ideas."

"Just wait for my signal," said Tuffnut. "Here they come."

The two pursuing skele-dragons were coming at the Zippleback together, the two-headed dragon opting to hover in place rather than escape. The skele-dragons knew easy prey when they saw it, and they barreled in like eagles after a catatonic hare.

Tuff unleashed his dragonhead's combustion gas, sending a potent spray of yellowish-green mist straight ahead and into the path of the two incoming monsters. He kept up the streaming until the creatures were almost on top of them, flying right through the flammable vapors.

"Now!"

For a change, there was no argument. Ruffnut swung her dragonhead over and sparked the gaseous stream, sending a torrent of lively flame flowing through the gas cloud. Both skele-dragons were enveloped immediately, protesting with their fading screams as they smoked and fell from the sky.

"Okay, that was cool," admitted Ruffnut, her brother smiling smugly and relishing her words.

Relieved that her friends were unhurt, Astrid sent Beatrix after Toothless and the other skele-dragons. They were too far out now for Astrid to see what was happening, but the fact that Toothless hadn't turned back toward the coast by now worried her. She asked Beatrix to fly as fast as possible, and the Nadder obeyed as best she could. But they were still a ways off and barely closing.

As Snotlout and the twins took off after Astrid, Fishlegs was still lagging behind as Chomps landed for a moment to rest from his ordeal. The oversized youth was dying to tell the others about his narrow escape, since none of them had apparently seen it during the battle.

Chomps had done his best to outmaneuver the skele-dragon, but Gronckles were not good at aerial combat. They were more ground-to-air assaulters, and poor Chomps was too busy steering clear of the ebony fireballs to shoot back. Chomps ducked and weaved, using his hovering skills to stay out of the line of fire, but he was too slow by comparison.

Then came a grim moment when the skele-dragon charged in at Fishlegs, its cavernous jaw wide and aiming to rip him from his saddle. Fishlegs almost decided to jump and risk busting every bone in his body on the rocks rather than get savaged. But then something blew by him, his helmet sailing off his head from the rush of air as it passed, and diverted the bony dragon's attention long enough to allow Chomps to get away.

It was a weird-looking distortion thing that had gone by, barely discernible from the sky and clouds behind it. Then the distortion fell away and another dragon appeared in its place, a dark-green creature that Fishlegs recognized as the dragon from Hiccup's sketches of his Mainland battle. It didn't stop to say hi, but it did stretch out a clawed hand toward the skele-dragon, firing off a powerful lightning bolt from its palm. Fishlegs's ears were still ringing from the thunderous attack that turned the skele-dragon's skull into lots of scattering and smoldering bone pebbles.

"Green Lightning!" cheered Fishlegs, holding up his arms as he yelled the name. And while the dragon disappeared as quickly as it came, melding back into a fuzzy-clear shape and speeding off toward the ocean, it left two final impressions in Fishlegs's mind.

One – it was carrying something in its other claw-hand, something that resembled a person.

Two – the dragon had glanced back at Fishlegs as he shouted his chosen nickname for it, and he swore that it looked unmistakably irritated.

* * *

><p>"Green Lightning?"<p>

Any other time, Nestor would have been having a field day at Arc's expense. Nothing got under the dragon's scales more than cutesy name-calling, the dragon already repeating the name several times, his tone increasing with annoyance with each utterance. But Nestor was too furious with Arc to enjoy the moment, and too distressed for Hiccup's sake to worry about anything but what was coming next.

As usual, he wasn't looking forward to it.

Shielding his eyes against the emerging glare of the sun and the biting cold of the rushing Atlantic air, Nestor spotted the half-submerged black dragon on the surface of the ocean, covered in Cervantes's corrupted bone servants. He estimated how soon he'd be over Hiccup's position. He guessed a minute, give or take a second.

Consternation over inane nicknames aside, Arc's mind was singularly focused now. He had sped by the other dragon riders and the skele-dragons with barely a thought to their welfare. Nestor had insisted that Arc intervene with the Gronckle rider's situation, since he appeared to be in a bad spot at the time. Otherwise he wasn't going to follow Arc's plan – he'd save Hiccup in his own fashion.

Arc's streamlined form made him one of the faster dragon species in the air, but he couldn't match a Night Fury for speed. Thankfully (or not, depending on how you looked at it), Toothless had been forced to slow down considerably. Hopefully Hiccup was still alive – Cervantes was not cruel without purpose, but he could be plenty cruel when he desired it.

"Fifteen seconds," shouted Nestor, keeping time for the dragon. Arc descended in altitude until they were flying just above the waves, Nestor feeling tiny droplets of ocean spray begin to saturate him.

"Remember, you only have a few seconds to pull this off," cautioned Arc. "Do not hesitate, no matter what state Young Hiccup and his dragon are in."

Nestor bit back the reply he wanted to say. The only reason why he was going along with this was because it was also the quickest way to save Hiccup and his dragon. So he kept his mouth shut about it. But after this, guaranteed, there would be words aplenty.

"Taking care of it," said Nestor. "I just hope your aim is better than last timmMMEEE!"

Arc pulled upward and released Nestor, flinging the now-visible young man through the air with graceful precision as Nestor yelled his parting words. He needn't have worried, as Arc's throw was true and the fall was mercifully short.

Now came the hard part.

* * *

><p>Hiccup felt his friend's struggles beginning to slow as his air supply grew low. His hope that Toothless might find a way to break free, or that rescue was coming, was proving groundless. All the while, the cruel face of Cervantes stared at him and patiently waited for Hiccup to start spilling his guts. The calm certainty on his face was worse than the toothy grin on a starving Nightmare.<p>

He really didn't have a choice, did he? Hiccup was sitting on top of his drowning friend, the water lapping at his legs as if taunting him, and he was helpless to intervene. But he didn't trust Cervantes to spare him and Toothless – he had to test his captor before divulging anything.

"Okay, I'll tell you what you want," he said quietly but frantically. "But let him breathe first."

Cervantes appeared to mull it over, then shrugged. "A reasonable request."

Hiccup felt the bone cage vibrate as it shifted slightly, Toothless's head popping out of the ocean seconds later and greedily taking in the air, his panicked struggles fading. Hiccup sighed with relief, though it was tempered by the sunken eyes that continued to stare at him with expectation.

"I can easily shift the bones back," said Cervantes. "Now, I really do hate repeating myself…"

A quick burst of orange light filled the air just as something whammed into the top of the bone cage, interrupting Cervantes and caving in part of the cage's ceiling. Hiccup looked up and was extremely, pleasantly surprised to see Nestor already rolling off the top and onto the front of the structure, gripping the cage with one hand and cocking back his right arm. His fist glowing a violent orange that sparked tiny flecks of crimson, he rammed it through the cage, snapping bones into splinters and grabbing the little dragon skull that was silently floating behind its master's visage. He then yanked the skull out of the cage and held it against his chest as if it was a treasured keepsake.

"The prodigal lackey returns," chided Cervantes, his illusory face still floating before Hiccup but now faced towards Nestor. "I trust Archibald is still recovering from our last encountSQWAAAKKKKK…"

Cervantes's image first began to warp, then fade, then disappeared entirely as Nestor's entire body glowed orange. The dragon skull attempted to leap out of Nestor's hand as its dark aura began colliding with Nestor's glow, a tug of war between the two color schemes playing out before Hiccup's bewildered eyes.

"Incessant talker, Cervantes," commented Nestor as he gritted his teeth and kept the skull pinned to his body, the skull writhing and squirming in his arm.

"What's going on here, exactly?" asked Hiccup, now noticing the increasing vibration in the bones all around him, wiggling in tandem with the skull's struggles. It was almost like they were responding to its distress.

"I'm disrupting the skull's mystical conduit with my barrier field," said Nestor in an absent fashion.

"I see," said Hiccup, a blank look on his face. "Thanks for explaining that."

"Explanations later… AHH!" cried out Nestor, Hiccup joining him a second later, as the bone cage lifted off from the water, dragging the still-imprisoned Toothless out of the ocean. The cage began to accelerate as it veered off to the right, the bones that composed it rattling and vibrating and threatening to fly apart at any moment.

Then the cage began to roll over, Toothless protesting loudly as he was slowly flipped around again and again, the skele-dragon cage out of control and speeding up at the same time. Nestor clung to the cage with his legs and free hand, still grappling with the evil little skull. Hiccup tried kicking out with his right foot against the cage, hoping to weaken the convulsing bones at one of their joints, but they stubbornly held together. Whatever power kept the bones animated hadn't given up the fight yet.

The slow barrel-rolling flight went on for an agonizingly long time. Hiccup could barely see past Nestor and the constant rolling wasn't helpful for getting one's bearings. Usually during times of heavy aeronautic acrobatics Hiccup trusted Toothless not to fly them into the ground, but Toothless wasn't in control right now. No one was.

Then he spotted their destination – a series of tall rock formations sprouting out of the ocean commonly known as Thor's Fingers. Hiccup's first true flight with Toothless had nearly ended with them splattered against those towering rocks. It looked like the rocks were going to get another chance, as the careening bone cage was headed right for them. One solid-looking candidate was approaching rapidly, Toothless desperately trying to turn them or even halt their rolling but powerless to do either.

"Nestor, we're about to die here!" yelled Hiccup, the rocky monolith looming large in front of them.

Right then and there, the mystical tug-of-war came to a conclusion. The dark aura surrounding the dragon skull abruptly retreated inward, the living blackness of its eyes shrinking to pinpoints within their sockets. Nestor's field barrier stabilized and disappeared from sight, Nestor relaxing for the brief second it took him to turn about and spot the oncoming wall of rock.

The bone cage stopped quivering and started collapsing, the edges separating and sliding off Toothless, the obscene dragon skulls popping off and tumbling to the sea. Toothless no longer had any resistance pitted against him and he immediately banked hard to the right. Hiccup crossed his fingers as he compensated with his rudder control while bones cascaded down around him.

There was a horrible grating screech as the remaining bones on Toothless's underbelly scraped across the stone pillar, Toothless barely holding the turn in place. A chalky line of crushed calcium smeared the rock as they cleared it… or nearly cleared it.

There was a sudden lurch as Toothless careened against a small, jutting knob of stone, the dragon smashing through it while yowling in pain. His left wing dipped too far over and clipped the tower right before they were finally past it, knocking him out of control and sending the remaining parts of the clinging bone cage scattering into the air.

With his original handhold disintegrating, Nestor grabbed hold of Toothless's neck right in front of Hiccup, hanging onto the wounded dragon with one arm. Trying to keep a clear head, Hiccup switched the rudder to a landing configuration and hoped Toothless wasn't too dazed to pull off a water landing. That was their best option right now, because their out-of-control sightseeing tour had taken them back to the coastline and the softest thing on the shore was gravel.

The mighty dragon managed to straighten up just as he impacted the ocean surface, skimming it at first and then plowing a wake though the bluish-green brine as they decelerated. Nestor was knocked loose and went flying ahead, his body flashing orange as he collided against one of the breakers ringing the shore. Hiccup held his breath as their speed dwindled, releasing it only when the ride had come to a calm end and the only motion was the gentle waves pushing against them.

Toothless could touch bottom here and he managed to limp him and Hiccup over to the shore before collapsing to the pebbled ground. Hiccup immediately dismounted and tried to pull Toothless further up the shore, but the injured dragon was in too much pain to stand. He was rolled over on his right flank, his left front leg curled up underneath him.

"Toothless, let me see it," said Hiccup, and his friend tentatively extended the limb a few inches. Hiccup tenderly inspected it, bent scales and dripping blood suggesting a serious injury. It didn't look broken, thank the Gods, but it looked bad nonetheless.

"Okay, pal, you just rest," soothed Hiccup, sitting down next to his hurt friend. "Help's going to be here soon." Or so he hoped, as he didn't know what had happened with his friends back down the coast. Thankfully he didn't spend much time in ignorance as he spotted an airborne dragon form some distance to the west. A Nadder profile, which hopefully meant Astrid.

Hiccup almost freaked when he heard splashing behind him, expecting another skele-dragon to show up. Again, thankfully, it was Nestor pulling himself out of the waves and looking pretty good for having just played the part of a human catapult round. He groaned unhappily and sat down next to Hiccup, his left hand brandishing the little dragon skull. Nestor gave it a look-over, grimacing at it but then nodding his head as if satisfied with its condition, and then tucked it under his left arm once more.

"That thing?" said Hiccup, pointing at the skull. "That was responsible for all those undead reptiles?"

"Hardly," said Nestor. "But it does contain a fragment of Cervantes's essence, which links him from afar to his… creations. It allows him to control his abominations from a good distance away. The guy doesn't like to dirty his own hands. I had to subdue it before Cervantes ordered it to self-destruct. That wouldn't have been pleasant."

"Cervantes," said Hiccup, hating the name as he spoke it. "I'm guessing he's one of the reasons why you guys are out here."

Nestor nodded. Then he got a good look at Toothless's leg and his face became crestfallen. "How bad?"

"I don't know," replied Hiccup. "You wouldn't be a skilled healer by chance?"

Nestor shook his head and stared off toward the ocean, that guilty look his eyes remaining. Hiccup almost brushed it off as misplaced guilt over not saving Toothless from injury, but then he thought about it a bit more. Nestor's ability to show up at the right time was becoming way too convenient, and he couldn't have gotten out to sea unless Arc had airlifted him. So that meant Arc had to be around – why didn't the dragon come to their aid?

This no longer felt like a noble rescue attempt.

"Not to sound ungrateful," said Hiccup, "but were you saving us… or that thing under your arm?"

Nestor's answer was silence for a time and Hiccup expected the matter to go the way of all his previous conversations with the man. But then Nestor's eyes narrowed, guilt twisting into anger, and he looked at Hiccup with a sudden intensity that startled Hiccup into forgetting his next question.

"This shouldn't have happened," stated Nestor, slowly standing up. "None of this. I can't take back what has occurred, can't heal your dragon's wounds… but I can help you survive what comes next."

"What comes next?" said Hiccup, standing up as well. He didn't like where this conversation was going. "Hasn't enough happened already?"

"For you, I doubt it," said Nestor. "I thought ignorance could be your shield, but whether it's by my Fates or your Gods, we're stuck in this battle together."

Nestor then closed the distance between him and Hiccup and put his mouth next to Hiccup's ear, his voice a whisper. "You'll need to know what I know, Hiccup. When you're ready, come seek me out. You know where to find me."

Nestor didn't give Hiccup a chance to respond. He ran off the moment he finished speaking, the legs glowing orange again as he fled down the coast. Two heartbeats later, a watery distortion swooped in from the sky and surrounded him, Nestor fading into the heart of the distortion. Then it lifted off again and flew towards the east, disappearing behind a coastal cliff and leaving Hiccup's mind whirling once more.

* * *

><p>Astrid arrived mere moments behind Nestor's departure, parking Beatrix nearby and running over to Hiccup and the injured Toothless. Greatly relieved to see Hiccup with the same number of limbs as before, she impulsively hugged him when she got near. Hiccup took comfort in her embrace, his mind too concerned with Toothless and other dilemmas to be thrilled over Astrid's kinder, gentler greeting.<p>

"How is he?" she asked, looking at Toothless and grimacing at his leg.

"In pain," he replied. "We need to get…"

"Already on it," she said. "I signaled the twins to go back to Berk. Good thing, too – I think their Zippleback was injured."

"They're all okay?"

"They actually did fine against those things… well, after a rough start. We might have a squad after all."

Hiccup walked over to Toothless and patted the dragon's head, trying to give him some reassurance. Toothless accepted the affection, groaning softly from his aching foot. Hiccup did feel a measure of satisfaction about his squad's performance, though it did little against the mountain of weightier matters upon him. He wasn't even sure what to tell Astrid at this…

"I saw him talking to you," said Astrid, interrupting his thoughts with a stern glare. "Nestor – he ran off and disappeared right as I was landing. And you didn't seem shocked to see him."

Hiccup sighed under his breath. Was he really that surprised? Astrid had been the only one to sniff out his Toothless-sized secret two years ago, and that was back when she didn't know Hiccup all that well. He wasn't even disappointed – part of him hated lying to her and wanted her in on this, even if that made things dangerous for her as well.

The other part of him didn't want her anywhere near this conflict, especially not after today.

"They're on the island, Astrid," he confessed.

"They?" she replied.

"The green dragon as well. They're… uh, partners."

"Like you and Toothless?"

"Not quite."

"How long have you known?"

Hiccup gave her a sheepish look. "Yesterday?"

"Son of a…!" Astrid's considerable temper reared its head, her fists balling up as she paced and swore for several loud seconds. When she calmed down, she said, "It's a good thing Toothless needs you right now or else I'd be adding some more bruises to your shoulder!"

"This isn't like last time, Astrid," Hiccup tried to explain.

"It's still lying, Hiccup!"

"For your sake. For the village's sake."

"I can handle the truth, Hiccup. I was there with you on the Mainland, remember?"

"Yes, but you're not a target," said Hiccup. "Not like me."

That managed to calm down Astrid, though her eyes were still filled with disapproval. "What do you mean?"

"They were after me, Astrid. Not you guys, not even Toothless – just me."

"Why you?"

"I don't really want to tell you. They might come after you, too"

"I can take care of myself, Hiccup!" Astrid angrily stated. "And if you think I'm going to sit back and watch a bunch of living nightmares cart you off to the afterlife, then you're the stupidest…"

"Alright, alright!" Hiccup hastily said. "But let's save the story until after we get Toothless back home. And please don't say anything to anyone until I get some answers from Nestor."

Astrid's stewing disposition dimmed back to a simmer and she consented. "Hiccup, I thought we were past this routine," she added. "I thought you could trust me."

"I do trust you, Astrid," he replied. "I trust you with my life. But look what happened." He patted Toothless again. "He was lucky to survive this. I don't want anyone else hurt on my behalf, especially you."

Astrid chuffed and put on an air of bravado. "I wasn't planning on getting hurt, Hiccup. And the only ones that will get hurt are those things if they come near you again. Understand?"

Yes, he understood. He only wished he could believe it.

* * *

><p>"Did you use him as bait?"<p>

Nestor's accusation cut across the otherwise tranquil clearing, Arc resting his hindquarters on a patch of grass while Nestor ranted away in front of him. Their camping cave was close by but they had no need to return to it. Nestor had secured the required object, though he had yet to give it to Arc as the dragon requested.

Nestor held the little dragon skull under his arm, his bargaining chip for the answers he wanted. He knew that as soon as Arc had the skull he'd be out and flying away immediately, so this was the one chance he had to force a confession.

"We will discuss this later," said Arc, almost a demand but lacking any force behind it.

"No, answer me!" Nestor insisted.

"Bait implies a trap. I merely set the stage for a possible showdown."

"You turned that boy into a beacon!" shot back Nestor. "I figured it out. That little show-off stunt from yesterday, your static-charge blast – you deliberately marked him. Did you know he was being monitored?"

"I suspected," replied Arc. "Hiccup and his dragon delivered a sound thrashing to Cervantes's abomination and thwarted his trap. It was unlikely that the necromancer would just let the matter drop. If I was wrong, then the boy would have been just fine. If I was right, then we'd have the perfect opportunity to lure out Cervantes, and we'd ensure that no harm came to your friend."

"Lure him out? What happened to your carefully planned out search pattern?"

"It was proving fruitless. Now, we have a lead." Arc held out an expectant claw-hand at Nestor, palm up. Nestor didn't move to fill it.

"Are we on this island because of Hiccup?" Nestor asked. "Did you know he was here already? Did we come here because you suspected Cervantes would keep tabs on him?'

"We came here because this island is the closest thing to livable in this heat-forsaken region," shot back Arc. "Hiccup's presence was fortuitous, but I did not plan on marking him until you two stumbled into one another again."

Nestor looked at Arc as if his friend had morphed into a complete stranger. "For the last week, every other sentence out of you towards me has been composed of a noun, a verb, and 'you screwed up at Tempest Point.' Why? Because we don't endanger the innocent. You taught me that no matter how rough the path gets, that's our standard. But I guess standards don't apply in regards to Cervantes, do they?"

Arc narrowed his eyes, in no way moved by Nestor's condemnation. "Do you not understand the gravity of the situation, Nestor? Cervantes has been sending an army's worth of corrupted bone against us. He's throwing everything he has at us. He's been patient up until now, through most of the long years I have dealt with him. If he's willing to engage us so violently and publicly, then he is very close to his goal. He _cannot_ be allowed to achieve it. I suspect that the only thing holding him back now is that we possess what he requires. If that means we take risks to stop him, we do so."

"Yes, _we_ take risks. We don't drag others into our war."

"Hiccup was already in this, Nestor. He was dragged in the moment he encountered you at Tempest Point. You just refuse to see it."

"My fault, right? I wondered how'd you get in one more jab. You arrogant…" Nestor was fed up, not even bothering to finish his insult. He took the dragon skull and tossed it over to Arc, who nimbly caught it between two claws.

"Cervantes has always brought out the worst in you," remarked Nestor, stepping back to a dried-out log and sitting down. "But you had limits once upon a time."

The dragon brought the little skull up to the level of his eyes and mouthed a few syllables that sounded more like a series of wolf howls than a language. The skull's sockets filled up again with pulsating blackness, the skull futilely wiggling between Arc's entrapping claws.

"You're mine now," Arc said to the skull. "You will lead me to your master." Arc then released the skull, which floated in place and didn't try to escape. It quivered, as if struggling to break free of Arc's control, but it obeyed just the same.

Arc turned back to Nestor, his reptilian face unreadable except for a tiny speck of something in his eye. Regret? Remorse? Sadness? Nestor couldn't place it. When Arc wished to be inscrutable, he succeeded all too well.

"The conduit is weak, but I can still read it," he said. "I will follow the trail as far as needed. I will return no later than four days from now. I trust you to mind the cave while I'm out." He spread his wings and made to take off, but then twisted his long neck back towards Nestor and added, "We will continue this discussion when I return."

Nestor watched Arc gently lift off with the dragon skull in tow, Shrouding as he flew out toward the northern sea. Nestor had been left in the dust on many occasions, and each time he had always wished for his friend's quick return. This time out, he honestly couldn't care. If this crusade against Cervantes hadn't already ruined Arc, then it would before it was over.

"Take you time, old man," he quietly said to the fading distortion in the distance.

* * *

><p>Stoic stirred the smoking bone pile with the head of his war hammer, trying to provoke a reaction, any reaction. But the only thing the bones were willing to do was smolder. He was disappointed to have missed a battle occurring right in his backyard, having had no real chance to get physical on anything bigger than a spider in the last few months. Far more distressing was the fact that this was the second time in the last two weeks that his son had seen battle – his son, who still apologized to every fish he took a bite of.<p>

There were several of the devil-empowered bone piles littering the coast, the remains of the skele-dragons Hiccup's Dragon Squad defeated earlier. A dozen other Vikings were combing the area or out on scouting flights, making sure there weren't any further threats to his son or to Berk. Stoic had felt the need to come see the evidence of the battle personally, though he opted to jog out on his own.

"This is what I get for minding my shop for a day," said Gobber, who was also poking the same bone pile with his hook arm. "I turn my back for a moment and the youngsters get attacked by meatless beasts. The worst part is that we can't even cook these things. Might be able to boil them, though."

"Wasn't you fault for being absent," said Stoic. "Besides, it sounds like they committed themselves well."

"They've come a long way in a short time, for sure," said Gobber. "But they didn't get away clean."

Stoic nodded and looked back toward the surf, where his son was helping the village healer tend to Toothless's leg. The good news was that it wasn't broken – that would have taken some time to heal. But the healer was suggesting at least a week of rest for the dragon, which definitely put the squad's summit plans in jeopardy.

"We can push back the show time," said Gobber, who was quite capable of reading his old friend's mind. "The summit will last five days. We could squeak in the demonstration at the end, when Toothless is better."

"I was hoping to do it up front," said Stoic. "Stonefist will be more open to negotiation if he sees our dragons light up a few of his men… in dummy form, of course."

"Well, just as a thought, but maybe Hiccup would be willing to fly on another dragon."

"Good luck there," replied Stoic. "Hiccup and Toothless are joined at the hip. Besides, the Gunnarr need to see our best in action. That's Hiccup and Toothless."

"No arguments there," said Gobber. "But he's still going to need a substitute during practice."

Stoic stirred the bones once more and frowned. "Deviltry. They went after our children, my son." Hiccup had told him about the battle, how six of these horrors had gained up on him. It was only due to Toothless's superb flying that he survived, though not before smashing himself on one of Thor's Fingers. Too close a shave for Stoic's comfort.

"I feared he was attracting some unwanted attention with these Mainland trips," he went on, "but I was too little, too late in putting a stop to it. These things could be hiding anywhere, and we can't guard the entire shoreline."

"What are you saying?" asked Gobber.

"I'm suspending the training until we know it's safe," declared Stoic. "Flights around the island as well. We'll double the watch and our patrols. I'll not let this ruin the summit, Gobber, nor will they go after my son again."

"I get that, but that might throw a bit of a crimp into our plans."

"Work with what we got. Keep it simple. But the summit cannot fail, Gobber. We'll deal with this… deviltry… after."

"Keep it simple," repeated Gobber. "Like I wasn't dumbing it down already. And what do we tell her about all this?"

He pointed his hook arm at a distant figure down the beach, her dark gray cloak easily picked out against the charcoaled rocks of the practice range. The Seer had caught wind of the fracas and had come out to see it for herself, flanked by her bodyguards. In a gesture of good faith, Stoic had given her free reign to explore the island as she saw fit, though she was restricted to the Great Hall, her private domicile, and a few other public locations while in the village. It was mostly an empty gesture on Stoic's part, since he didn't expect she'd want to leave the safety of the village. Turns out that she was more willing to travel than the tales implied.

Stoic muttered a whispered curse and said, "She's one more thorn in my boot I didn't need. If she asks, just tell her we're taking pains to ensure her people are extra-safe during the summit and that it will still occur in four days. That should satisfy her."

"And if she asks about the bone dragons?" questioned Gobber.

"Offer her some of that bone soup you were going to make," Stoic said with a smile.


	9. Full Disclosure

**Author's Note:** I had a nice vacation involving caves and coastlines and still managed to get in some writing. So much so that I will be releasing the next chapter on Friday (6/24/11) as well.

Onwards.

**Chapter Eight: Full Disclosure**

Except on rare occasions that usually involved near-death experiences, Toothless wasn't typically allowed in the house. The black dragon was a little too big to maneuver inside the home without knocking over a piece of Viking bric-a-brac, crushing a stool or chair, or causing a fire when his fireproof tail dragged a hot coal out of the fire pit. Like most Vikings who had taken a dragon into their families, Stoic and Hiccup had built a "dragon house" next to their own house. It had three walls and a roof and a small trough to eat from that was usually filled with the catch of the day. The ground was sufficiently burnt for the dragon's comfort and Toothless was more than happy to sleep in it most of the time.

Now it was his recovery room, the poor dragon looking more bored than pained while he leaned on his uninjured side and stared off at the dawning skyline. Hiccup had to suppress his urge to ignore the healer's instructions and give Toothless a little flight time, so glum his friend looked. Toothless could still fly with no problems, but the landings were problematic with his leg bandaged around the foreleg and joint.

"Mostly cod today," Hiccup reported as he dumped some fish into the trough from the woven basket in his hands. "Not your favorite, but they're what's biting."

Toothless sniffed the trough and took one of the offered fish in his teeth, swallowing it without much enthusiasm. He was evidently planning on making Hiccup feel guilty for every day he was grounded, but Hiccup wasn't going to jeopardize his pal's health any further than necessary.

"Hiccup!"

The gruff voice belonging to Hiccup's father rang out from behind him. Hiccup called out his location and his father poked his head out a nearby window, still working on one of his beard braids before starting the day.

"Tell me again where you're going to be," said Stoic.

"I'll be here for a few hours, then I'm off to the blacksmith," recited Hiccup. "Only place I can go now with everyone grounded."

"It's not forever, Hiccup," Stoic replied. "Just until I've determined it's safe to resume flying."

"How long are we talking about?"

"Let's get to the end of the summit without anyone dying, then we'll see."

His braid nice and twisted again, Stoic disappeared back inside. He'd be gone in a few minutes, but Hiccup couldn't wait that long. The timing would be cutting it close as is.

He leaned down to Toothless's head and whispered in his ear, "You're really okay with me taking off?"

Toothless nodded his approval, though he didn't appear to be thrilled about it. Hiccup wasn't thrilled either. He wanted to be doing this with Toothless at his side, but the window of opportunity for getting out of Berk by air was closing fast. His dad's order to ground all nonessential dragon flights meant everyone had to secure their dragons and/or their equipment before noonday. That meant he had to perform this little sojourn now.

Sure as clockwork, Hiccup heard the front door open and shut, his father leaving the house for the day. Hiccup relaxed as he checked Toothless's bandage one final time. His leg was healing nicely and the dragon could walk upon it if he had to, though not without reopening the wound. The bandages wouldn't need changing for some time.

The approach of heavy footfalls from around the house was Hiccup's signal to get moving. Hiccup rose and met Fishlegs as he walked toward the dragon house, the giant-of-a-boy carrying several scrolls and pencils in his beefy arms and wearing an enthusiastic grin.

"Thanks for doing this, Fishlegs," said Hiccup. "I didn't want to leave Toothless alone by himself all day."

"I should be thanking you," replied Fishlegs as he dumped his writing supplies on a dry patch of dirt near Toothless. "Now I can finally compile some stats on Night Furies for the book."

Until now, Hiccup had insisted on covering the Night Fury section of the Dragon Manuel, not only because he was the one real expert on them but also because he didn't want Fishlegs harassing Toothless about his wingspan size and average claw length. But desperate times and all that. Fishlegs had agreed to not ask questions about Hiccup's secret destination in exchange for "stats," an easy favor to fulfill.

"Just remember he needs rest, okay?" said Hiccup. "And if my dad comes by, tell him I went to get some fresh bandages."

As Hiccup jogged off toward his rendezvous point, he overheard Fishlegs telling Toothless how they were first going to measure his jaw size with his teeth retracted, then with his teeth exposed. Hiccup sighed – he'd better bring an extra-large helping of cod back tonight for Toothless's supper.

During the few minutes Hiccup had to wait on the top of the nearby ridge before his blue-scaled ride came to pick him, Hiccup tried to not over-think the coming meeting too much. Over-thinking using bred panic and there were too many genuine worries in his life already to fit in false ones. He didn't want to be drawn further into Nestor and Arc's affairs, not with the Gunnarr summit three days off, but yesterday had shown him that he was already well involved. If Nestor's word was true, he needed to know more to protect himself. Then again, if Nestor's word was true, knowing more would get him drawn in even further. Vicious circles were friendlier than where he was now.

His ride appeared from between some nearby evergreens rather than gliding over them. Astrid parked Beatrix for the time it took Hiccup to climb onboard behind her. Then they were sailing into the trees once more, taking a slow and carefully threaded route below the tree line to avoid detection.

"Feels weird to be the passenger for a change," commented Hiccup as they skimmed between a pair of brushy pines.

"My dragon, my driving," replied Astrid, rather enjoying the role reversal. "Also, two rules: no backseat flying… and watch where you put your hands."

* * *

><p>Despite the plethora of dry duff surrounding his cave, Nestor's morning routine began with standing in a patch of sloppy mud, his eyes closed and his body relaxed. The mud was deliberate – Shrouding is disorienting initially and it was good to have a way to check your body's whereabouts. Mud held footprints better than duff.<p>

He was trying to follow Arc's advice about Shrouding – how he had to modulate his thoughts to a certain pattern. He had absolutely no idea what that meant other than he had to get his barrier field to glow a certain way. Barrier field manipulation wasn't anything new to Nestor, but it still took a lot of concentration and practice to use it at the right time in the right way. Changing the field's "pattern" was something entirely foreign to him.

He tried his right arm first, shunting some of his field to that limb until his nerves began to tingle and then trying to shift the field as he'd been instructed. He opened his eyes and saw that his arm glowed slightly but remained fully visible. No results, as usual… until he looked down and saw that his left leg had vanished up to his kneecap. That was the most amount of his body he'd managed to Shroud since… ever.

Buoyed by his success, he released the field on his arm and sent it to his left leg, thinking that he might cause his right arm to disappear. Perhaps the problem was that he'd been working on opposite assumptions, so maybe…

No luck. His left leg reappeared and began to glow, but his right arm stayed visible. He then reversed course and tried to duplicate his earlier results. This time, his right arm glowed as part of his stomach suddenly vanished, making him look like he'd been the victim of a bloodless skewering.

It was still better results than he'd been getting since he'd actively began practicing Shrouding a year ago, so he kept trying different combinations of power shunting. To anyone watching, his body underwent a bizarre series of amputations and restorations over the next several minutes, culminating in one maddening moment when several parts of Nestor's torso disappeared all at once in an oddly orderly pattern, making him look like a human chessboard.

Nestor groaned and released his field entirely, too distracted to hear the distant sounds of wing beats approaching. This wasn't going to do him any good unless he could make his entire body become see-through all at once. But he was making progress. Maybe it was his mental state – he was still fuming at Arc and anger was good at disrupting one's concentration. Perhaps relaxing his mind further was the trick.

He took several long, deep breaths, clasped his hands together in front of his chest, and closed his eyes again. He imagined his body disappearing all at once and repeated that thought over and over, letting the external world fade into the background as he sought to attain a better awareness of his body…

Then he heard someone's throat clear.

Nestor half-expected to see an army of Vikings standing before him as his eyes opened. After yesterday's incident he honestly didn't know how Hiccup would react. Even without Shrouding, Nestor could have hid himself. Arc had taught him well about the art of evasion and camouflage, a necessary skill in Nestor's line of work. But Nestor had told Hiccup to come see him when Hiccup was ready, and so here he was out in the open. If you were going to rebuild trust, you had to be willing to take a risk or two.

Much to his relief, Hiccup hadn't brought his village with him as he approached Nestor's campsite on foot. Much to his regret, Hiccup had brought _someone. _She was walking next to Hiccup with a battleaxe held in one hand, giving Nestor a distrustful glare. The girl called Astrid – he recognized her from the battle with the Guardian.

Nestor's life was already plenty complicated. This was not going to help.

* * *

><p>"Sorry to interrupt your… whatever you're doing," said Hiccup as he and Astrid closed the distance to Nestor, who had appeared to be sleeping on his feet. "You said when I'm ready, and I'm as ready as I'm going to be."<p>

"I did say that," replied Nestor. "Don't think I said to bring a friend."

"I figured out he was lying," Astrid said.

"She does that," added Hiccup. "She's also my ride with Toothless out of commission."

"Right," said Nestor, some guilt creeping onto his face. "How is he?"

"He's going to hate me after spending time with Fishlegs, but he's mending." Hiccup noticed Astrid was prowling around the bushes and the cave entrance as he talked, probably trying to seek out any invisible dragons or metal monsters or anything else that might try to end the conversation prematurely.

"He's not here," said Nestor toward Astrid, "if you're looking for Arc. I assume Hiccup told you about him. He won't be back for some time."

Hiccup believed Nestor on this point, though Astrid clearly didn't as she continued poking around the camp. He had concluded from Nestor's whispered instructions after yesterday's battle that whatever Nestor was about to share was not something that could be shared in Arc's presence. He had no choice but to trust Nestor when he said that Arc was gone, since Nestor was going against Arc's wishes on this occasion.

"You mean the talking invisible dragon that's been spying on us and doing who knows what else?" shot back Astrid, coming toward Nestor with a fire in her eyes. "_That_ Arc?"

"Ease down, Astrid," said Hiccup. "We're here to talk, not to bite off his head."

"It's not _his_ head I'm worried about getting bitten off," she replied. She scanned the area once more, not trusting Nestor's word about the lack of invisible reptiles, and then fixed Nestor in her gaze when she didn't spot anything unusual. "You strike me as a nice guy, Nestor, but ever since you've shown up Hiccup's life has been in danger every few days."

"To be fair, the grapple launcher incident was my own fault," chimed in Hiccup. Then he spotted something half-covered in brush near the entrance and recognized it almost immediately. "Speaking of which, is that my grapple launcher over there?"

"Ah, yeah, that," said Nestor, moving to the device and uncovering it. "I didn't think you'd mind if I retrieved it for you. I needed a diversion… and some firewood." He waved at a pile of torn-up logs off to the side, the uneven breaks suggesting that no axe was used in chopping the wood.

"I take it the tree didn't survive," said Hiccup as he went over to inspect his device. The saddle was still attached to the launcher and the grapple rope was coiled neatly on the ground. He'd have to get inside it to diagnose the misfire problem, but he was happy to see the launcher had survived intact outside of some sap stains and a few dents in the woodwork. He had dreaded the prospects of retrieving it.

"I didn't climb back up the tree, if that answers the question," answered Nestor.

"Are you two done?" scolded Astrid. "We have a bigger priority here. Hiccup and I only have so long before someone back in Berk sees through our little web of excuses and figures out we're gone. We have an hour to talk, and if I don't like what I hear after that, I'm personally hauling your butt before the village chief so you can explain yourself to him!"

Nestor opened his mouth, thought better of whatever he was about to say, and then said to Hiccup out of the corner of his mouth, "She's scary."

Hiccup adamantly nodded in agreement. "She made me promise before she agreed to stay silent. After what happened yesterday, either we get a good reason for keeping your secrets, or it's full disclosure to my dad."

"Your dad? As in the chief?" said Nestor, surprised by the revelation.

"See?" said Hiccup. "Not much fun being kept in the dark about important stuff, is it?"

"Touché. _Salo krebit_, this just gets better and better." Nestor then turned to Astrid and adopted a conciliatory tone. "Firstly… nice to see you again, Astrid. Secondly, if I can't convince you both to maintain secrecy, then I'll personally walk myself up to your chief and give him a formal introduction."

Nestor motioned to a pair of newly cut logs that he'd positioned near the cave entrance, Hiccup and Astrid taking seats on one and Nestor taking the opposite. There was a palpable silence as Nestor gathered his thoughts, Hiccup anticipating and dreading what the man had to divulge.

"Arc is the expert storyteller," began Nestor. "But you have me instead. I imagine the best way to do this is to start at the beginning and work my way to current events.

"The village of my birth is far to the south of here, toward the other end of the continent. We were landlocked, with no real problems from dragons or Vikings or even tax collectors. We did have a reoccurring plague problem, though, which might explain why no one ever invaded it. Ever few years it swept through and claimed a few people. We weren't like your people – our greatest enemy wasn't something you could fight off and we lived life in quiet despair of the future. My parents died early in my life during one of those plague sweeps and I was living with some relatives when I first ran into Arc… literally.

"There I was, an eleven-year-old boy by myself, exploring a clearing several miles outside the village, running smack into a see-through dragon who was sleeping off a long flight from the east. I woke him up and surprised him, with little petrified me too amazed and scared to run for it. But he wasn't threatening – he was mostly amused at seeing this dumb kid chance upon him. He could've left, could've chased me off with some warning about eating my head if I ever told anyone about him, but instead he looked at me very curiously and said that he'd make me a deal. If I came to him once a week and brought a few interesting tales with me, whether village gossip or exotic legends, he would tell me something interesting as well. He promised me he had much to tell.

"That's the first deal I made with him – conversation. No power, no soul-selling, nothing like that. He'd found a peaceful place to hide for a time, but he needed a little intelligent interaction to keep his mind from stagnating. And for almost four years after that, we exchanged stories. I never felt like it was a fair trade, considering the meager stories I could come up with. I'd come see Arc with my Uncle Terry's oft-told tale about getting lost in the woods for four days and having to eat a butterfly, and he'd tell me about the Artisans."

"And they're important?" asked Hiccup.

"Extremely," said Nestor. "The most important thing you've never heard of. Keep in mind, I have only Arc's perspective to go on, but I've seen enough supporting evidence over the last few years to believe every word.

"Tens of thousands of years before the Egyptians and the Greeks and the Romans had their time in the sun, the Artisans had their empire. It wasn't all that big, mostly contained to a string of islands in some lost section of the ocean, but the Artisan presence could be felt all over the world. It helps when your empire relies heavily on dragon power. You get around quicker."

"Dragons? Were they like us, then?" asked Astrid.

"Hard to say," said Nestor. "It was the only empire in history that actually coexisted with dragons. There was even a super-intelligent species of dragon that worked with the humans to develop some very impressive technology; things that make your catapults look more like slingshots. Arc called them the Ancestors, and they were the ones that worked a bit of magic into the mix. The biggest thing they accomplished was merging mystical energy into metal, not just to forge it and make it stronger but to give it a certain amount of life."

"Life?" said Hiccup. "As in motion? As in the skele-bull thing we fought back on the Mainland?"

Nestor nodded. "It's called a Guardian. They come in various flavors, but they all do the same thing – they guard something. According to Arc, the Artisans had far more powerful things than that at their disposal."

"If they were so powerful," said Astrid, "then why aren't we all speaking… uh, Artisan?"

"Artisanie," clarified Nestor. "What happened was what happens to any empire over time – divisions form, governments get weaker, hostilities break out. The Artisan Empire lasted a few centuries, which is pretty good for your average empire, but some schism occurred between the Artisans and the Ancestors and… they blew themselves up."

"They blew themselves up?" said Hiccup, mortified by the idea. "How?"

"Imagine a form of magic powerful enough to drop an active volcano on your lap," said Nestor. "Then imagine someone using it. At the height of the End War – that's what Arc calls it – someone triggered such a huge explosion that it obliterated the Artisans' island chain. The Artisans and the Ancestors were utterly annihilated. Humanity itself survived the ordeal… barely, but the Ancestor race went extinct afterwards, which is why the dragons you know aren't big on civilization."

Hiccup didn't want to imagine it. He had had more than enough nightmares about his village burning down around him thanks to careless dragon fire and angry Gunnarr invaders. He'd seen Red Death turn a dozen longboats into floating rubble within seconds. And here was Nestor telling him that there were _worse _things than that. He might never have a peaceful dream again after today.

"That's… pretty disturbing," said Astrid, as perturbed by the history lesson as Hiccup. "But if the Ancestors all died out, what exactly is Arc?"

"Ah, yeah, Arc," said Nestor. "Turns out that both the Ancestors and the Artisans had some inkling that the war might not end well for either side. The Artisans created a few hidden locations across the world called Shadow Halls, places that they could store secrets for their posterity's sake. Those locations are lost to the ages… mostly. But the Ancestors went a different route. They created an essence, a powerful energy form that contained all of their collected knowledge and a fair amount of their mystical power. To ensure that at least some of their legacy survived, they split the essence into eleven parts and instilled each part into a lesser… uh, a dragon species not known for writing poetry. They called these eleven dragons the Hyperion, and they scattered across the planet when the Artisan Empire fell. They were supposed to guard their secrets until such a time the human and draconian races were ready for them again. Obviously, that hasn't happened yet.

"Apparently, Hyperions can live a long time – the essence inside them makes them heal quicker and age a lot slower. But they don't live forever. The first Hyperions eventually had to transfer their essences to other dragons they deemed worthy of the honor, passing down their power and knowledge when they got too old to continue. This has been going on for a very long time."

"How old is Arc?' asked Hiccup.

"According to him, eleven centuries," said Nestor. "And he's not the oldest Hyperion alive right now. He tells me that there's a Hyperion on the other side of Asia that just turned the big three-oh-oh-oh."

Hiccup whistled. "No wonder I feel like an ant when he looks at me."

"He has that effect on people," said Nestor. "Keep in mind, Arc is very full of himself, so he sometimes makes the Hyperion out to be the last great hope for the planet. But a Hyperion is an amazing creature. No matter what dragon species you use, the essence makes them smarter. Put a Hyperion essence in a Terrible Terror and your little dragon is suddenly discussing the philosophical differences between Plato and Socrates."

"Who and who?" asked Astrid. Hiccup had an equally confused expression.

"You guys need to get off your island more," remarked Nestor. "Anyway, there were eleven Hyperions after the Artisan Empire fell, but over the eons that number has fallen to six. If a Hyperion dies before transferring his or her essence to another dragon, the essence dissipates as well. Each Hyperion has only part of the Ancestors' knowledge base, so there are whole swaths of ancient knowledge forever lost to the world. The Hyperions take their caretaker roles seriously, avoiding civilization for the most part, but they sometimes help out fledgling cultures from behind the scenes. They also come together once every century to compare notes and talk shop... and to see who is still alive and who isn't.

"The stuff I'm telling you right now is what kept me coming back to Arc each week. A new story, a new history lesson, a new piece of trivia about the world – I loved it all. I even picked up a few languages from him – Norse, Latin, a bit of Gothic. It all seemed harmless at the time. I knew the village wouldn't have approved if the secret got out, but my relatives weren't too concerned about my hobbies and never asked. They had their own children to worry about – I was an extra.

"I mentioned my village's plague problem, right? Well, one day I started hacking and coughing and couldn't stop. Early symptoms of the plague. I knew what was expected and I obediently took myself over to the designated Rest House outside of the village. That's where anyone with the plague goes to… you know, wait. You go in and you never come back out. No one survives the plague.

"I don't remember much about being sick. I was running a high fever and I'm pretty sure I was hallucinating through the rare moments I was actually awake on my deathbed. But one memory remains crystal clear. My vision was blurred up at the time but I do recall something large and green leaning over me, whispering alien words in my ear. I felt something flow into me, every nerve in my body tingling at once as if an ant colony was running around inside me. I think I passed out after that, because I don't remember much else.

"Then the unthinkable occurred – I got better. The plague up and left me after a few days, and my village rewarded my miraculous recovery by accusing me of witchcraft. It didn't help my case when one of the local brats threw a rock at me during the witch trial and this orangey glow around me deflected it. I pretty much ran for it after that." Nestor lowered his eyes, the hurt behind the memory still lingering.

"I am sorry," said Hiccup, very sincerely. He'd been perilously close to banishment from Berk after Toothless's existence was exposed, so he could relate to some degree.

Nestor waved the sympathy away. "I'm not real torn up about it. The village was a pretty bitter place, more worried about staving off death than actually living. They were my blood, but not my home. Still, it's why I warned you, Hiccup. The more you get involved in my kind of life, the less likely your old life is going to want you around."

"Yeah, I get that," replied Hiccup.

Astrid saw the somber look on Hiccup and got defensive all of a sudden. "I am sorry for how your village treated you, Nestor, but our people aren't the same as yours."

"Really, Astrid?" said Hiccup disbelievingly. "I seem to recall only one person coming to my defense after Toothless tore apart the Arena."

Astrid's defensiveness fell away as she remembered that ugly time as well. "Okay, so it took us a little while to come around. But we did come around, Hiccup. Your dad's not going to disown you over this, not if we come to him early enough."

"I wasn't thinking about me, Astrid," said Hiccup, "and I get the feeling the problem isn't just social ostracism, is it, Nestor?"

"I'm getting there," said Nestor. "You see, Arc was waiting for me outside of the village as I was fleeing the stoning. He'd known what was going to happen. He'd seen how other villages like mine reacted to magic and the supernatural. He told me that it was his doing that I had survived the plague, that he had come to my Rest House and had squeezed inside. He had no healing powers, but he did have one trick up his scaly sleeves. Just like how the original Hyperion essence was splintered, he could split his own essence as well. He gave me a very tiny part of himself, enough to fight off the sickness. It's _very_ tiny – I won't be living longer or anything, but I haven't even caught a cold since he did it. His purported reasoning for saving my life was that he thought it'd be a waste to just let me die. But then he tells me that he… goofed."

"Goofed?" said Hiccup.

"One of his abilities got transferred over to me during the process," explained Nestor. "One of his favorites – barrier field. You've seen it action. It's essentially a solid barrier of mystical energy. It blocks anything coming at me with enough force to hurt me. It weakens if it takes too much punishment and it only stops about ninety-five percent of the impact, but let me tell you, I'd probably be dead a hundred times over if I didn't have it."

"That I can believe," said Hiccup. "So when your arms and legs start glowing, that's the barrier-field too?"

Nestor nodded. "The barrier works instinctively as protection, but Arc is teaching me how to control the field. I can shunt the power around to different parts of my body and make those limbs stronger. The downside is that the field weakens elsewhere, so I'm not as well protected. It takes a lot of practice – timing is everything in the middle of a battle. So I'm Arc's apprentice until I master it."

"This doesn't sound like a bad thing," said Astrid. "I'd love to have something like that."

"I thought the same thing as well, in the beginning," said Nestor, "but let me run something by you. Pretend that you're an outsider visiting a village that's friendly but not that friendly. You're walking down the village path, minding your own business, and the local brat spots you and throws a rock. Trust me, there's one in every village, he always likes to throw rocks at strangers, and he's always a good shot. The rock hits and your whole body starts to glow like a bonfire. Several villagers observe this occurring. Observations become questions. Questions become accusations. Accusations become pitchforks. You get the idea."

"I take it you can't turn it off," concluded Hiccup.

"Correct. Arc couldn't turn it off, either, but then he doesn't go waltzing through villages," said Nestor. "Arc knew how much trouble I was going to have with it, so he decided to make me another deal – he'd teach me how to make use of it in exchange for my assistance in his affairs. I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I agreed. So here I am, four years later, knee deep in Guardians and abominations and other things that will remain nameless for now. We move around a lot, sticking to the wilderness except on rare occasions."

"At least you get to see the world while you're on the job," said Hiccup, attempting to inject a positive perspective into the discussion.

"I have seen a lot of Europe, true, but I could stand to stick around somewhere for longer than a week," said Nestor. "Alas, all you have to do is make one or two powerful enemies and you'll forever be putting the people around you in jeopardy. Unless we can resolve things with Cervantes, Hiccup, that's going to be your problem as well."

"Nice to know I have something to look forward to," said Hiccup unhappily. "So how does Cervantes fit into this story?"

"He was in the story long before I came along," replied Nestor. "According to Arc, a few centuries ago, there was a young man who did a favor for a Hyperion named Latimar, and as payment Latimar gave him a fragment of essence that contained a specific piece of ancient knowledge that the man desired. What it was, we don't know, but it's safe to say that it was something he shouldn't have learned. From that knowledge he discovered how to animate and empower the bones of the dead, to make them into his private servants and soldiers. He took the name Cervantes and gave birth to the thankfully seldom-used art of necromancy. Over the years the man became more knowledgeable and powerful, but his greatest achievement, or crime, was that he found Latimar again many decades later and used his power to drain almost all of the Hyperion essence out of Latimar and into himself.

"Humans aren't made for that kind of power, or so Arc says, but Cervantes was apparently able to handle it. Latimar, on the other hand, reverted back to his old pre-Hyperion self, his personality basically wiped clean. Everything that had made Latimar… well, Latimar, was dead. I don't know if the dragon still lives or not, but as far as Arc is concerned, Cervantes murdered Latimar that day. Arc swore vengeance on Cervantes."

"Oh, great, blood feud," said Hiccup. "And here I thought my life was in danger for a more noble reason."

"There's more to it than that, but for Arc it's personal," said Nestor, anger over his dragon friend's actions leaking into his tone. "He's been pursuing Cervantes off and on for centuries now, and I watch how it blinds him to all else at times. I won't make excuses for him or how he used you to get at Cervantes, Hiccup, but I do understand his frustrations. Hyperions are a close-knit group, even though they can go decades without seeing one another, and Arc was especially close to Latimar. Cervantes has always managed to stay one step ahead of Arc. He has a Hyperion's knowledge pool to draw upon, and he knows things that no one else on the planet knows, including Arc. Everything Latimar knew, Cervantes knows, and Hyperions keep lots of secrets."

Nestor's brow creased as he continued speaking. "It's one of those secrets that we're worried about. Arc has always believed that Cervantes has an agenda, but recently that agenda has been gaining traction. A year ago, Cervantes resurfaced at the site of a Shadow Hall that had fallen into ruin but still held an active Guardian. Arc was certain Cervantes took something from the location because the necromancer had gone to the effort of destroying the Guardian. It took us a while to find his trail again, but we tracked Cervantes to a second Shadow Hall several months later, though there was no way to gain entrance as an entire side of a mountain had buried the secret door. Cervantes had _never_ shown any interest in Artisan secrets before, even though he had to have known about those Shadow Halls for a very long time. Exactly what Cervantes does in his free time is unknown… and honestly, I'm happy to keep it that way. But he's always been low-key, always keeping to himself. He's never come off as a megalomaniac with world-domination plans before, but still waters do run deep.

"Arc decided that we had to know what Cervantes was after, so we spent a week digging into the second Shadow Hall. We had to destroy a badly damaged Guardian halfway through the dig and I was spitting up dirt for days afterwards, but we did come up with a fragment of a stone tablet picturing a map of the area. It pointed to two other Shadow Halls, one that we'd already visited and one yet to be discovered. Arc believed Cervantes would eventually find it as well, so we were going to get there ahead of him, take or destroy whatever he was after, and then lay a trap for him.

"Well, it didn't quite work out that way. We got there, found our way into the Shadow Hall, and were greeted by a very angry Guardian protecting, of all things, a scribe's desk built from petrified wood. Arc distracted the Guardian while I explored the desk, where I found…"

Nestor trailed off as a thought occurred to him. He told Hiccup and Astrid to hold on as he ran off into the cave. It didn't take long for Nestor to reappear with the skele-bull's head in one hand, the blanket-covered oval object in the other, and the leather satchel around his right shoulder.

"Visual aids," said Nestor. He placed the items down at his feet and took the satchel in both hands. With a slight pause for suspense, he pulled open the satchel and removed a hefty tome that was bound with leather but had an odd shine to its pages, as if the paper was made of steel.

Then Nestor handed the tome to Hiccup, and it only took one quick page flip to realize that the pages _were_ made of steel. More precisely, it was the same metal that the skele-bull had been composed of, though paper-thin and surprisingly flexible. It was covered in a foreign scrawl embedded into the metal that Hiccup couldn't make heads or tails of, though it was formatted and ordered like a proper written language.

"This is it?" said Hiccup, handing the tome over to Astrid, who was equally intrigued by the book's shiny insides.

"It's what the Guardian was trying to kill me over," said Nestor. "I can even read some of it. Arc's been teaching me Ancient Artisanie and I've been translating the tome while Arc is off searching for Cervantes. It's slow going – I'm about a fourth of the way through it, and so far it appears to be a diary of a very bored siege engineer who likes to talk about turtles and how they like to talk to him when he sleeps. I hope it gets better soon, because I hate to think this is an eons-old Artisan practical joke."

"How do you make something like this?" said Astrid, running her fingers over the indecipherable words. "And why metal?"

"Metal keeps longer than paper, I'd imagine," said Nestor. "But the real prize is this thing." He picked up the covered object and immediately dropped the blanket, revealing an oval-shaped turquoise-colored crystal about the size of Nestor's fist. As the sunlight hit it, the crystal's surface began to shift colors to a more brilliant blue, then shift again to a transparent emerald shade that leaked small streams of purple and gold across its surface. Hiccup and Astrid watched as the crystal switched from one color palate to another, never settling on one scheme for longer than it took to breathe. Hiccup didn't even realize he was mesmerized by the thing until Nestor covered it up again.

"Hypnotic, isn't it?" said Nestor, placing the object on the ground once more. "You just kind of want to stare at it all day. That's why we keep it covered. It's an official Artisan powercore, what literally gives a Guardian its life. Normally you have to destroy the powercore first to destroy a Guardian, but this one seems to be built different. The metal around the housing isn't the same as the rest of the Guardian – it's stronger, in fact. That's unusual, or so I'm told."

Nestor grabbed the macabre-looking skele-bull skull and pointed at a set of markings on the top of the skull. Hiccup saw that they were similar to the words in the metallic tome.

"It reads _key_," explained Nestor. "Arc noticed it while he was distracting the Guardian. Considering that the word is right over the powercore housing, he thought the powercore itself might be a key to something else, some other Artisan secret. It makes sense to a degree – the Guardian is both the guard and the treasure. Arc ordered me to recover the powercore, since my barrier field allows me to get in close. But then things got a little crazy and that's how you two ultimately crossed paths with me."

"That's when Cervantes showed up to ruin the party, right?" said Hiccup.

"I think he was already there," said Nestor. "He had to have been hiding near the entrance to the Shadow Hall, the villain. This is a necromancer who has lasted centuries with an irate Hyperion on his tail, so he's no idiot. He waited for us to engage the Guardian and then unleashed a gigantic bone abomination. He probably would have succeeded in killing us all, Guardian included, had you two and Toothless not intervened.

"So that's where we stand, more or less. Arc is right now hunting down Cervantes before Cervantes can hunt us down and take the items in our possession. With any luck, Arc will deal with him before he causes you and your people any further trouble. But I can't make any promises to that effect. If Cervantes gets desperate, he might stoop to using you and your village to get at us."

"Just like how you two used Hiccup?" said Astrid, eliciting a guilty look from Nestor and a worried look from Hiccup. "Is that how you protect your friends?"

Nestor hesitated before speaking, fearing that what he said next would determine his fate. "As I've said, I have no excuses. Arc betrayed your trust, Hiccup, and by extension so did I. If I'd known about Arc's plan earlier, I would have warned you, but I still went along with it in the end. Whatever you decide now, I will go along with that, too."

Hiccup's brain felt like it had eaten too much and gotten bloated. It was quite the tale to absorb, so many reality-changing revelations to chew on. It was a tale he'd have dismissed as complete insanity if he hadn't just seen the shimmering powercore, if he hadn't been attacked by skele-bulls and skele-dragons, if he hadn't had a conversation with a dragon over eleven centuries old…

He stopped listing the insanity. It was only making his brain hurt more.

Hiccup tried to read Astrid's face as she bit her lip and digested the story, but she was keeping her expression nice and neutral. Hiccup wanted to speak out and tell Nestor that he wasn't going to turn him in to his dad, that he didn't blame him for the actions of Arc or Cervantes. He feared what his dad would decide about Nestor, what Arc might do as retaliation, what Cervantes might do to all of them, if he came forward and told his father everything.

But he didn't want to speak over Astrid, especially since she wasn't looking all that willing to give Nestor another chance, not with Hiccup nearly getting killed the previous day. Astrid had told Hiccup earlier that her first priority was to keep him safe, and nothing that Nestor had said had been helpful in that regard.

Then he thought of a question that might tip the scales in Astrid's mind, one he hadn't gotten an answer to yet.

"Before we make a decision," said Hiccup, "answer me this: do you have any idea about what Cervantes is after?" He furtively nodded his head toward Astrid, his face strongly conveying the notion that Nestor better have a convincing answer in mind.

Nestor caught Hiccup's subtle hint and said, "All I can say for certain is that it's something we don't want him to find. Arc thinks there's a leftover artifact or weapon from the Artisan Empire hidden out there in the Artic Circle. Hopefully when I finish translating the tome we'll have a better idea, but it has to be pretty powerful to get Cervantes' attention."

That seemed to help shift Astrid's opinion, her face softening as she considered other ramifications besides Hiccup's safety. It was the same line of reasoning that had kept Hiccup's mouth shut as well – that having Nestor and Arc around was better than _not_ having them around, especially if Cervantes, or something worse, showed up again.

It wasn't a done deal yet, but Hiccup was pretty sure she wasn't going to be turning Nestor over to his dad… for now, at least.

* * *

><p>Beatrix had her head in a leafy bush, chasing after something small and squeaky, as Hiccup and Astrid approached the distracted dragon. Judging from the ragged and sorry condition of the other brush around her, Beatrix had been chasing squeaky things the whole hour they'd been talking with Nestor.<p>

"We made the right decision, Astrid," said Hiccup, seeing that the consternation on her face hadn't faded in the five-minute walk between Nestor's hideout and Beatrix's landing spot. The talk had ended with Nestor telling them a few tips on how to detect Cervantes's creations, as well as some general advice such as steering clear of garbage piles full on bones or dirt patches with lots of loose earth. Now they were heading home, hopefully in time to escape any suspicions from the rest of the village.

"I know, Hiccup," she replied. "I agreed to it, didn't I?"

"So why are you disturbed?"

She suddenly stopped in her tracks and faced him, her consternated expression intensifying rather than lessening. "The real question is why aren't _you_ disturbed."

Hiccup halted next to her and said, "Should I be?"

"Should you be? Really? Are you telling me that you're fine with all… that?" She waved her hands back in Nestor's direction, though the curve of the hill and the thickness of the trees obscured Nestor's camp from view.

"Can't see what you're gesturing at," said Hiccup, "but to answer your question – no, I'm not fine with the situation. But it is what it is. Hopefully Nestor and Arc will take care of their business and then… they'll leave and our lives will go back to…"

"There!" Astrid pointed an accusing finger at Hiccup. "Right there!"

"Right where?" Hiccup honestly didn't know what she was fixated on. Did he just grow an extra arm or something?

"That pause in your voice," she explained. "That was disappointment."

"No, it wasn't," he replied. "Really, Astrid, I'll be relieved when this is over."

"Yeah, relieved," said Astrid. "I believe that. But don't tell me that some part of you isn't enjoying this."

"I'm… not enjoying this, Astrid."

"Another pause."

"Stop that. No, I'm not enjoying this. But… I mean, this stuff about ancient empires and Hyperions and magic metal, it's fascinating. I could do without the necromancy and the timing of all this is pretty inconvenient…"

"Hiccup, when people warn you about something, do those warnings just not get through? Are you mentally incapable of leaving well enough alone?"

"Astrid, I hear you, and I'm taking all this very seriously. But I'm not turning my back on Nestor. I owe him that much."

"Hiccup, I never said that you should turn your back on Nestor. If I thought that, we'd already be back at Berk and in front of your father."

"Okay, so why exactly are you so disturbed by all… that?" He mimicked Astrid's waving gesture for emphasis.

Astrid was about ready to knock Hiccup unconscious, drag him back to his house, and lock him up until Nestor and Arc had vanished from the island. She could lose Hiccup over this – she felt it in her heart. Maybe it was an irrational feeling, but it hung onto her spirit like a hungry tick. Hiccup was the last person who should be mixed up in Nestor's affairs – he was the most vulnerable to it.

But instead of cold cocking him, instead of admitting the depth of her concern, she sighed and said, "The world's changed on me once already. I don't think I can handle the world changing on me again."

Hiccup gave her a reassuring smile. "It changed for the better, didn't it?"

"Yeah, _that_ time. But can you think of anything positive coming out of all this? Nestor's talking about empires that blow themselves up and man-made monsters. And you're getting too close to it. You don't see the way you hang out with him. You two would've started playing with that oversized toy of yours if I hadn't said something."

"The launcher's not a toy."

"Missing the point."

"No, I'm not. Let me reassure you, again, that I'm taking this seriously. I wish you would believe me."

"I want to believe you," Astrid said softly, "but I'm going to be watching you just the same, Hiccup. If it starts to look like you're getting in over your head, I'm going to your dad." She ended the discussion by running over to Beatrix and attempting to coerce the spiked dragon to abandon its pursuit of the helpless rodent.

Hiccup stood there and thought about Astrid's words, wondering if there was any legitimacy to her concern and not seeing any. Hiccup was confident that his interest in Nestor's affairs was just that: interest. He has zero desire to go on crusades against necromancers and the like. He liked his life in Berk, and the thought of losing it made him queasy. Losing Toothless or Astrid or his father or his friends – no, there was no way he would give them up.

He was going to be careful, but he wasn't going to abandon Nestor, either. The man had saved his life… twice. Nestor had even trusted him enough to tell him some serious secrets about a bygone era. The least Hiccup could do was to be a friend for a little while, until they parted ways once more.


	10. A Different Image In Your Head

**Author's Because-I-Can't-Not-Say-Something-Up-Here-Note:** Umm... I like toast.

Also, while I was happy to release two chapters this week, it was a one-time thing. I'm back to one a week, same time as usual.

Onwards.

**Chapter Nine: A Different Image In Your Head **

The attack dummy was an amorphous thing, its oversized torso belonging to a dragon build but its legs and arms designed for a human look. The head was a water bucket that Astrid had purloined from her parents, a useless device that leaked from every seal. It was the discarded leftovers from several other destroyed dummies, the best Astrid could put together since all the other dummies had been moved to the Wasteland.

But what was most important was that it was her dummy, her personal training victim – her private time.

The mismashed dummy was fixed to a wooden pole in the middle of the old Dragon Training arena, now simply known as the Arena. Like many old things in dragon-friendly Berk, the Arena remained controversial for many Berkians. Some Vikings, including Hiccup, believed it needed to be torn down completely. It represented a sore spot for the dragons, where many had been caged and ultimately killed in mortal combat to the cheers of the onlookers. But others looked at it as a symbol of Viking strength and fortitude and they refused to allow it to be removed. Stoic had dodged the controversy by allowing it to stay open for anyone wanting to use it but steering public events away from it.

Despite the protestations from some Berkians, Astrid knew its days were numbered. The day that Hiccup took up the mantle of chieftain would be the day the Arena finally died. By then, few of the old guard would be around to complain. For now, the Arena slowly rusted and rotted, the stone walls stained and cracked, its cages sitting empty and barred up, the metal bars on the ceiling still sporting a massive, jagged hole from Toothless's rescue attempt two years ago.

Holding a throwing axe in her right hand, she sighted up on the dummy and visualized a credible threat to take the dummy's place. The craziness of the last several days had given Astrid a few new targets. Yesterday she imagined a skele-dragon preparing to fry her. Today it was a Gunnarr warrior charging at her.

She cocked her arm over her shoulder, her muscles tight from years of practice, and flung the axe toward the dummy. With a loud crunch, the axe blade drove into the dummy's chest and stuck there, the dummy unmoved and unconcerned about the protruding axe resting where its heart would have been.

_Not good_, Astrid contemplated. _I was aiming for its head._

She walked over to the dummy and yanked at the axe, having to work it free due to the strength of her throw and the quality of the blade. All her time spent on dragon riding and squad training had weakened her martial prowess and it worried her that she was losing some of her edge. Though chances were good that when she saw battle again it'd be on the back of Beatrix and not as a Viking grunt, she didn't want to become dependent on Beatrix in combat.

Having the squad grounded until the summit, now only two days away, was not proving to be such a terrible thing. The other Dragon Squad members were catching up on their chores and whatever else they did on their free time. Everyone still met up in the evenings to practice signal training and to go over the plan for their squad's summit demonstration, which had been pushed back to Day Three to allow Toothless adequate time to mend his leg.

Astrid was using her free time for melee practice, and while it felt good to swing an axe again it just didn't feel the same as before. Not long ago, her whole life was centered on being an in-your-face Viking warrior. Now it felt like a hobby or something she did out of habit. But it still gave her some alone time, a place away from the others where she could just be Astrid, and she was fine with that.

Hiccup was getting in some tool-time at Gobber's smith as well as tending to Toothless, who was healing nicely. Right now, though, he was also spending time with Nestor as they worked to get his grapple launcher operational again, having concocted an alibi or two with Astrid to cover his absence. She was of two minds about that.

She did trust Hiccup most of the time, and she didn't want to disrespect Hiccup's judgment by sticking too closely to Hiccup while he and Nestor had some "guy time." But Hiccup didn't have the best track record on sound decision-making; there were reasons why "pulling a Hiccup" used to be an insult in the past.

Despite her fears, she knew she had to give Hiccup the benefit of the doubt. That's what friends did for one another. But she remained vigilant, and the first sign of Nestor-related danger would send her scrambling to Stoic's doorstep.

Her throwing axe was being stubborn, though, and it took longer than usual to wrench it free. One last hard pull finally detached it from the dummy, the momentum spinning her around and nearly tripping her up. That was when she realized she was no longer alone.

The gray-cloaked Seer was here, along with her bodyguard entourage. She stood near the sloping entrance to the Arena, her guards silently watching Astrid with their hands at their sides. There was no threat in their eyes, though it was impossible to guess the Seer's mood with the cloak's hood hiding most of her face.

"Good form," the Seer commended. "Your stance is slanted too far to the left, which impacts your aim. Correct your stance and you won't have difficulty hitting your targets."

"Um…. thanks," Astrid said cautiously, surprised by this visit. "Can I help you with something?"

"Perhaps. I ask permission to share your training area. No other place in this village is adequate for my intentions."

"Uh… sure, it's open to anyone." Astrid wasn't happy with sharing the Arena with anyone, let alone a Gunnarr, but it wasn't like she was going to say no to the Gunnarr's ambassador. Hopefully the Seer would only stay a few minutes and take care of whatever she was going to do – otherwise Astrid would make up some excuse to leave.

"Dismissed," said the Seer, her words directed at her bodyguards. They immediately about-faced and left the Arena, disappearing from sight and leaving Astrid alone with the Seer… which didn't make her feel any less uncomfortable.

The Seer then walked over to one of the old dragon-cage doors, still bolted but now covered in rust stains, and touched the door's metal brackets in a curious manner. Facing away from Astrid, the Seer quickly removed her cloak and hooked it on one of the brackets, the fluidity of her movements making the act seem like a rehearsed performance.

Astrid was shocked by what she saw next as the Seer turned to face her. The Gunnarr Seer was someone heard about or heard from, but never seen. All sorts of rumors surrounded her, using involving physical deformity and severe aging. But that's what you got for paying mind to rumors, because she wasn't aged nor deformed. She was only a year or two older than Astrid, judging by her looks. A thin body wrapped up in traditional Gunnarr red-and-black colors, her outfit was designed for mobility and combat. Unlike most Vikings, her crimson hair was short and unbraided, barely touching her shoulders. Her blue eyes had a cold feel to them, and while the mystery around her had abated somewhat she hadn't lost any of her authoritarian aura.

She came over to the weapons rack that Astrid was storing her weapons on and began to examine them without asking permission, lifting them up and testing their weight and feel. "I imagine you had a different image in your head about me, am I correct?"

"I didn't know what to image," admitted Astrid. "I wouldn't think someone with your… looks… would want to be covered up all the time."

"The cloak is part of my station, nothing more," said the Seer, picking up a short sword, frowning at it, then placing it back on the rack. "All Seers wear it regardless of their… looks."

"So there have been other Seers."

"Yes. It's my family line. But my people like to let the rumors become exaggerated. Warfare is deception, after all."

Astrid nodded. "Keep your enemies guessing. That makes sense. But then why are you telling me this?"

The Seer looked at Astrid as if she'd just said something crazy. "You are not our enemy, and I hope you never become our enemy. Part of my mission here is to ensure a positive outcome to this summit."

"That's good to know," said Astrid, and it was. "But still, why are you telling _me_?"

The Seer plucked a dual set of daggers from the rack and began to swing them about her, showing off that fluidity again as she gracefully moved around in an orchestrated exercise. She continued to talk as she parted the air with her daggers, her body acting almost purely on reflex and muscle memory.

"You're one of the few warriors in the village that still trains in traditional combat. I see many others here too busy fishing or riding their dragons to notice how their warrior skills are falling into disuse. It would be a mistake for your tribe to rely too heavily on your dragons. Also, you are not far from my age and I could use someone to spar with… if you're willing."

Astrid remained unsettled by the Seer's behavior, but she knew she couldn't pass up an opportunity like this. Not just for more practice, but also to have a chance at understanding the Seer and the Gunnarr in general, perhaps even uncover some of their long-term intentions towards the Berkians.

"I'm game," said Astrid, putting down her throwing axe and picking up her tried-and-true battleaxe. "Flat of the blade?"

"Of course," said the Seer, ending her exercise and facing Astrid directly. Her two daggers were poised for battle, a thin smile on her lips. "This is a friendly affair."

Astrid wasn't sure about that, but she kept her thoughts silent as she adopted a fighting stance and prepared herself. She had a feeling she was about to get her butt kicked, but at least she would be getting her butt kicked by the best.

* * *

><p>"Hold there… hold there… okay, got it."<p>

With the morning sun hiding below the rocky walls of Sanctuary, Hiccup tightened the first leather strap and locked it into place, beginning the process of reconnecting the grapple launcher to its proper saddle. Nestor held the device underneath the testing log dubbed Fake Toothless, his arms glowing as he kept the launcher in place while Hiccup reattached it. Normally Toothless would be bearing the brunt of the labor, but Toothless needed a few more days of rest despite his increasingly restless mood. Nestor was willing to step in for now and his barrier-field thingy was highly useful for load lifting.

Hiccup was hoping to clear his launcher's misfire before the summit began, not because was still entertaining the idea of using it in the squad demonstration but because he wasn't about to give up on his project after investing so much time into it. He wasn't even taking into account the amount of fresh fish he'd need to cajole Toothless into wearing the device again.

Hiccup and Nestor had agreed to meet at Sanctuary in the early mornings – it was a short unmonitored walk from Berk for Hiccup and Nestor needed a meeting place that wouldn't betray his camp's location. Fishlegs was still happy to keep Toothless company for a couple of hours in the morning and Toothless was okay with putting up with Fishlegs as long as the bonus fish supply was ample.

"Do you ever miss it?" said Nestor. "Your foot, I mean. Sorry if I'm asking a personal question…"

"Go ahead," said Hiccup. "I'm a Viking, remember? Scars are like badges of honor to us. We love talking about those."

"Good to know," remarked Nestor. "I'm curious because there was an old man in my village that had gone without his right arm for a good decade and he sometimes felt like it was still there. He called it the ghost of his arm."

"Ah… you know, there are days," replied Hiccup, tightening down another strap. "I throw a spring, I forget to take it off before bed, I get it hung up on a tree root… it all reminds me. But then I think to myself – lost a foot, gained the respect and love of my village. That usually helps."

"Nice way to look at it," said Nestor. "I find that the Fates have wicked senses of irony. You lose something important but you gain everything else. I gain something important but I lose everything else."

Hiccup stopped working for a moment and looked back at Nestor. "You still have Arc."

Nestor chuffed. "Ah, yeah, but that's not much. I think he just barely tolerates me and I get the impression that I'm around because he feels an obligation for both saving and messing up my life. Otherwise, I think he'd drop me off at the nearest village and be done with me."

Hiccup didn't argue. What little time he'd spent in the dragon's presence had not given him the warm fuzzies, and it was hard to get past Arc putting him and his friends in jeopardy to get at Cervantes, something Hiccup was still plenty upset about. He didn't want to imagine what spending years with Arc could do to one's self-esteem, much less one's health.

"Maybe you'd be better off on your own," suggested Hiccup.

"Maybe," said Nestor, shifting his position under the grapple launcher as Hiccup switched to the opposite side of the testing framework. "He's been there for me when no one else was. He's taught me much about the world and how to survive in it. But I keep wanting something from him that's just not in him any longer."

"What do you want from him?"

"I want him to be the dragon I knew when I was younger," said Nestor. "He cared about things once, believed in things once. He's told me how the Hyperions have thwarted many disasters in the past to give humanity and dragonkind a fighting chance at civilization again. There was always a sense of pride in him when he talked about battling giants who were out hunting dragons or working with Latimar to alter the course of a powerful hurricane away from human civilization. But not long after I acquired his barrier field he began growing cold, guarded, more obsessed with taking vengeance on Cervantes. I keep hoping he'll wake up and see what he's becoming, but I know that he won't. If it weren't for the fact that Cervantes needs to be stopped, I'd have left his side already."

"And here I thought I had father issues," Hiccup said absently as he began on a new set of straps, the discussion beginning to sour his mood.

"Huh?" said Nestor. "That was a joke, right?"

Hiccup stopped and ran through what he'd just said again, realizing that it might have been an odd thing to say. "Uh… yes, joke. Sorry, bad, bad, joke."

"Yes, because the idea that I have father issues with Arc is silly on several levels," said Nestor, though the tone of his voice suggested a measure of uncertainty within his definitive statement. Perhaps to deflect the awkward moment back at Hiccup, Nestor said, "How are you with your father, since you bring the subject up?"

Hiccup shrugged as he fastened down the last connecting strap. "Considering that I've gone from black sheep to the gold standard of sheep in two years, pretty darn good. It's why it's killing me to be lying to him again."

"I am sorry, Hiccup."

"Don't be." Hiccup moved over to the right foot pedal and began to hook it up to the launcher controls as he continued talking. "He's been on edge ever since the skele-dragon attack and I _know_ that he wouldn't take kindly to your presence here. Even Astrid agreed with me on that."

"Still, I don't wish to burden you further."

"Burden me? This is almost a vacation. Back at the village everyone's acting like the squad getting grounded is a disaster." Hiccup then adopted his best Gobber impersonation. "_Hiccup, you've got to impress those blasted Gunnarr or they'll use our tribe for target practice_. Sometimes it's easier to live with lowered expectations."

With the launcher secured to the testing log, Nestor moved out from under it and stood by Hiccup. "Would you actually prefer being a pariah again?"

Hiccup immediately laughed and said, "No, no, and no again. It's just that I thought being liked would make life easier, but it turns out that I've just exchanged one set of problems for a different set. But listen to me – complaining about nothing, really."

"Not nothing," said Nestor. "Sounds to me like you just need more balance."

Hiccup looked at Nestor curiously. "Balance?"

"Balance," repeated Nestor. "A successful mix of doing things for your people and for yourself. Finding equilibrium between war and peace, duty and desire. Arc told me once that while there are things that come at you that you can't control, you could take steps to balance it with things that you can, things that define who you are and not what others expect you to be. Someone who carries the world on their shoulders will end up with back problems."

"Arc told you this?" Hiccup asked incredulously.

"Like I said, he wasn't always the way he is now."

Hiccup thought about it and then said," You might have a point. I think about it now and… I mean, I hide my tinkering projects, I go on long trips away from Berk, and it's almost a relief not to be conducting Dragon Squad training even though I know it's important to the village. It's like I'm so determined not to disappoint everyone that I end up hiding who I am. Nearly killing myself with my launcher may have been humiliating… but it also felt like _me_ for a change."

"You'll figure out balance," said Nestor. "Some never achieve it, but you strike me as intelligent… most of the time."

Hiccup smirked at Nestor's good-natured jab. "And have _you_ achieved balance, Mr. Wise Guy?"

"Ah, yeah, me," said Nestor. "I'm searching for it. Maybe someday I'll even find it, but it's hard to stop and balance out your life when you're always running around."

Hiccup decided that they'd spent more than enough time on heavy topics, so he went with the first new thing that came to mind.

"I need some relationship advice."

Nestor looked at Hiccup with a profoundly confused expression. "From me?"

"You're here and you've been around."

"I've been around a surly dragon for a good chunk of my life, and I haven't been to civilization more than a few times in the last couple of years. I may be one of the least-qualified people alive to give you advice. Can't your father tell you something useful?"

Hiccup laughed. "My dad? He fell into an arranged marriage."

"Friends?"

"_My_ friends? I'd be better off asking my dad."

Nestor shrugged. "Alright, just don't expect much."

Hiccup went over to the launcher's main cylinder and began to open up its compartments as he explained his dilemma. "So there's this girl…"

"Astrid," corrected Nestor.

"Uh… yeah, Astrid. Is it really that obvious? Anyway, it's like we're on opposite sides of a big hill and we can see each other and there's nothing between us to stop us from walking up to each other and… you know, have things happen, and yet we just can't quite get over the crest. I mean, I've tried walking to her, but I'm not getting any closer."

"Is that what you were doing on the Mainland when we met?" said Nestor with a sly smile. "An attempt to woo her? I didn't even know Vikings wooed."

"We woo… I mean, yes, that's what I was doing, and then you showed up and…"

Nestor raised his hand. "Say no more. The only person better at mood-killing than me is Arc."

"It wasn't going anywhere even before you arrived," replied Hiccup. "She's just… reluctant, and she won't tell me why."

"Have you asked her?"

"This is Astrid. She's not shy. If she doesn't want to tell me, then she doesn't want to talk about it. I just need some way to convince her. I need a really grandiose romantic gesture."

Nestor thought about it, then said, "Have you tried saving her life? I hear that goes down well with the ladies."

"Done that," said Hiccup. "It doesn't help as much as you'd think."

"Flowers?"

"This is _Astrid_."

"Oo-kay. How about a memento, something personal? Something that she'll carry around all the time, something that will always remind her of you."

Hiccup groaned with frustration. "She doesn't do jewelry or fancy clothes. Sometimes I think she's married to that battleaxe of hers, but that's…"

A very strong epiphany nearly bowled Hiccup over. It was so blatantly simple that he almost kicked himself. Astrid's battleaxe and that super-hard metal she had found so intriguing – why not put them together? The only stickler was getting Nestor's permission.

"Nestor, what would it take for you to part with that metal skull you're keeping in your cave?" Hiccup asked.

"That thing?" said Nestor. "I have no use for it. We were only keeping it around so I could extract the powercore. It makes a nice trophy, but I can't afford to…" Then a similar epiphany crossed Nestor's mind. "You know, we might be able to do something…"

"Way ahead of you," said Hiccup, feeling almost gleeful… until he realized the challenge he had in front of him. "Only problem is that I've tried working with that kind of metal before and I couldn't even scratch it."

Nestor frowned as he considered the same hurdles. "Yeah, I haven't found anything out there tougher than myssteel."

"Myssteel?"

"Myssteel – mystical steel," explained Nestor. "Arc and I came up with the name. It's an Artisan secret recipe. The only things I know that can damage myssteel is more myssteel or magic energy. It's quite vulnerable to magic, of all things."

"What about dragon fire?"

"Ah, yeah," agreed Nestor. "Dragon fire is pretty hot, especially your friend's."

"If that's the case," said Hiccup, feeling his excitement build again, "then I think I know what to do."

* * *

><p>The mist was like a solid curtain of moisture, so thick that Arc could taste it on his tongue. His keen vision was next to useless as he carefully maneuvered around rocky obstructions and razor sharp stone formations, keeping his speed low as he followed the little possessed dragon skull through the haze.<p>

The last two days had been a long slog, Arc forcing Cervantes's minuscule servant to backtrack to its master over the tempestuous seas and through the frigid wind. Arc had figured that it would take some time, as the skull's connection to its master had been severely weakened after its battle with Nestor, so it was following any trail it could detect. So far it had led Arc to five other islands to the north of Berk, each one vacant and barren save for the grim remains of dragon bones. Cervantes had visited those islands to gather resources, leaving a spectral trace of his passage behind. Eventually they'd run out of islands – eventually, Cervantes would be found.

This latest island was perpetually surrounded by mist and boat-wrecking reefs, a phenomenon that anyone might mistake as naturally occurring. But the scent of mystical intervention tugged at Arc's nostrils. It was unlikely to be the work of Cervantes – weather manipulation was not at his disposal – but Cervantes was very likely to have come here seeking the magic behind the fog.

The red-hot peak of an active volcano poked out of the fog as Arc grew closer to the island. Broken formations of stone were also increasingly common, as if a great earthquake or eruption had torn them asunder. And a familiar feeling began to percolate in Arc's mind, a sad remembrance that grew in power as he approached the lonely shoreline.

By the time the fog had receded and the shore was laid bare to him, he had deduced where he was. How he wished he hadn't.

Much had changed in three hundred years. The dormant volcano had grown active, possibly a deliberate act but most likely just the fortunes of providence. The fog and the rocky sea barrier were new, probably a defensive measure to conceal the island. There were the mauled remains of catapults and Viking war vessels littering the shoreline. There was a humongous hole in the mountain no doubt created by a massive body of muscle and scales.

And there was a crater not far from it, a gaping hole that spread out from the base of the volcano to the washing surf.

Arc landed in the middle of the crater, tucking in his wings and walking about the hole in a slow methodical search for any traces of remains. His feet crunched on shards of glass that had formed from the intense heat of the crater-creating explosion. It didn't take him long to conclude that his search was a futile one – the destruction had been total, time wiping away what little had remained.

"So here you met your end," said Arc to the ground, the weight of his memory pinning him in place as he spoke. "I'm sorry that I couldn't help you, my friend."

"He didn't suffer, if that's any consolation," came an unwelcome voice.

Rising on his hind legs, Arc spun around on instinct and readied his lightning to incinerate the source of the voice. He didn't dare to hope that it was actually Cervantes and he wasn't disappointed. Greeting him was a small humanoid skeleton made of human bones for a change, though its head was another draconian composite. It was rising from out of the crater's sandy bottom, its dark eyes already projecting a haunting illusion of the rag-clad Cervantes into the air as it lifted out of the grit.

"They say that his end was a memorable one," said Cervantes, the necromancer's face solemn as he spoke. "Ashes to ashes. A shame that it left nothing for me to salvage."

Arc let his lightning recede as he lowered his guard. This was no trap, not with a mere skele-scout to greet him. Arc still desired to torch this mockery of life, but he would resist for now. His enslaved dragon skull was floating behind him, awaiting more orders. It might be able to lock onto Cervantes directly if it could get a better reading, and a direct communication with the necromancer was the best reading of them all.

"You took enough from him in life, monster," said Arc. "It's fitting that you cannot touch him in death."

"I took what he offered, dragon," countered Cervantes. "A fact you refuse to acknowledge time and again."

"He didn't offer you his essence, deceiver."

"But he did. He didn't say so in so many words, but he was tired of the long journey. So very tired. He didn't want to continue knowing what he knew, to be tormented by the past and fearful of the future. I left him a few magic tricks that would keep him safe and fed – I am not cruel without purpose. But ultimately I saved him from his misery."

"You saved him by destroying him!" yelled out Arc, his eyes full of fury. "You left him a beast with one desire – hunger. You did to him what you do to everything you touch; you left him as an abomination. You cannot rationalize your way out of my judgment, Cervantes… or my wrath."

"I wasn't attempting to," said Cervantes. "We're far beyond words, you and I. Still, I wanted to appeal to your logical nature and warn you to give up your vendetta. If you knew what I knew… if you understood my true aims… you would stand aside and let me finish my work."

"Tell me your aims, then," said Arc. "You may find that I'm surprisingly open-minded."

"I don't mock your intelligence, dragon. Don't mock mine. If I tell you too much, you'll figure things out too soon. The fact that you now have one of my servants bound to you is testament to your skill." A smile materialized on Cervantes's face as he continued to speak. "You have learned a few lessons from me, haven't you? Using that young boy as bait for me, turning your lackey into a weapon – exquisite. You never were a means-to-an-end kind of mind before, but it is refreshing to see you come out of your comfort zone."

No insult could have cut Arc deeper than Cervantes's words of pride just then. The dragon bared his teeth and snarled, "I am nothing like you, necromancer."

"No, you're not," sad Cervantes, "but don't worry, you'll get there soon enough."

If the skele-scout hadn't chosen that moment to come apart at the seams, the skull shattering as Cervantes's taunting image winked out, Arc would have accomplished the deed himself. It would have done little to soothe Arc's spirit – the damage was done. Another well-played trick by the necromancer, luring Arc to this graveyard to twist the knife in Arc's soul further.

The real twist, the one that hurt the most, was that Arc couldn't argue with anything Cervantes had said.

He stood there in the crater, feeling nothing but great anger. A part of it was directed at Cervantes – there was always anger in that direction. But the greater part of it was at himself. His failures to save his old friend three centuries ago, his enduring inability to bring Cervantes to justice – those were old wounds, old self-loathing. But now he added to it his newfound willingness to dangle the innocent in front of monsters. He added his treatment of Nestor, the one being on the planet still willing to put up with him after all this time. The one being he…

No, he couldn't let sentimentality get in his way. Men like Cervantes exploited sentimentality.

It would be different soon enough. Cervantes wouldn't escape this time. The dragon skull remained bound to him. It would lead Arc to its old master. Then Nestor could be free of all this misery, and Arc could go find some distant hole to burn off the rest of his Hyperion years.

Perhaps Cervantes wasn't lying about Latimar. Nigh-immortality felt more like a punishment than a reward at times. Had the old dragon truly surrendered his essence for life as a simple beast? The Latimar he'd known had reveled in his Hyperion nature. Then again, the Latimar he'd known had died many lifetimes ago.

No, this was all falsehood. Cervantes wanted him to doubt. It would be one more weakness to exploit. But he was tired – too many hours in the air. He needed rest before settling things with Cervantes. Not here, though. Not in this grave.

"Rest well, old friend," he said to the silent earth as he returned to the air. Turmoil-filled as he was, he barely registered his travels as he set off to the south, back towards the most habitable island in the area.

* * *

><p>The mechanics behind making a steel weapon are fairly elementary, at least to a blacksmith. You heat up your metal until it's molten, you pour it into a mold, and then you bang it into its proper shape as it cooled. Those were the basics. A true artist could mess with the basics to create fancier weapons, but most Vikings only cared about the weapon's ability to do the job properly.<p>

Hiccup knew the basics, and while he was rusty at axe making it wasn't as complicated as a flight saddle or a grapple launcher. No complicated machinery involved. But there was an added snag this time.

The snag dangled in front of Toothless like a baited line, the metal skull suspended from the roof of Toothless's home by hook and rope. Still cooped up in his home, the dragon sniffed it and recoiled, remembering the unpleasant experience of his encounter with the head's previous owner.

"It's not pretty to look at, is it?" said Hiccup, positioning an axe head mold underneath the dangling metal skull. Nearby was a washtub filled with icy water and a few blacksmith tools he'd borrowed from Gobber. It was almost sunset and he had precious little time to pull this off before his whereabouts was questioned. Right between blacksmith time and signal practice, he was going to invent a new form of blacksmithing… or bungle it and possibly burn down his house.

"Remember, tight controlled flames," said Hiccup to Toothless, the dragon looking almost insulted by the instructions. Hiccup was well aware of Toothless's expert control of his flames, but this wasn't something dragons did in the wild. Normally he'd have the metal set in a steel cauldron so that it could be heated properly, but myssteel had a higher melting point than any metal Berk had to offer. The cauldron would melt before the myssteel did. So it had to be done this way or else it couldn't be done.

Toothless channeled some combustion gas into his mouth and expelled a tongue of blue flame from between his teeth. The effect on the myssteel skull was instantaneous, the metal quickly shifting color from cool silver to a sizzling red to a molten orange. Droplets of metal dripped off the skull as its shape sagged and contorted towards the ground. The mold caught the running metal as it spread and conformed to its new shape.

"Pal, we might have a future in the blacksmith industry after all," said Hiccup, beyond pleased as he watched the liquid metal slowly take on the look of a mighty axe head.

Despite his lousy record at keeping secrets lately, Hiccup did manage to keep the axe's creation to himself through the night and into the following morning, when he meet up with Nestor back at Sanctuary. The myssteel had cooled at an alarming rate, which had forced Hiccup to break a speed record at banging it into a proper axe. As such, it didn't have any frills or markings on it, nor did it have any sweetly worded runes adorning its sides. It did have a remarkable luster to the metal, not even needing a good shine after cooling down. Hiccup had fitted it to a pre-made oaken grip earlier and now he had a proper two-bladed battleaxe in hand as he greeted Nestor.

"Here's the rest of the metal," said Hiccup, presenting Nestor with a bucket of excess metal in his other hand. The skull had been melted down in its entirety, leaving a good supply of leftover myssteel for other attempts. It was a good thing that myssteel was so light; otherwise, Hiccup couldn't have carried it all the way to Sanctuary.

"Keep it," said Nestor, refusing the bucket.

"You sure?" said Hiccup, putting the bucket down at his feet.

"I can't do anything with it, and Arc would chuck it into the sea just to be safe. Consider it a reward for your troubles. And I see the axe came out well, too." Nestor took the new myssteel axe in his hands and felt its weight. "_Salo krebit_, there's barely any heft to it."

"I know," said Hiccup. "It's the first battleaxe I can actually swing… which makes me think I did something wrong. What if heating the metal weakens it?"

"There's only one way to test it," said Nestor. He pointed to a plank of wood suspended between two small boulders. A broken branch rested on top of it, ready for the chopping.

"I went ahead and set it up, but you should do the honors," continued Nestor, handing the axe back to Hiccup.

"A log? Even a dull axe should cut into that, and I haven't sharpened this one. I figured Astrid would want to do her own customizing."

"Start small. Let's make sure this thing doesn't break on impact."

Hiccup walked over to the testing log and raised the axe over his head. Years of firewood splitting had trained him to spread his legs apart before swinging, though it hadn't improved his accuracy or his arm strength. But it was hard to miss a six-foot stationary log on a wooden plank.

Except that he somehow missed it.

The axe chopped downward and met no resistance at all. No thunk or flying slivers of wood or jarring shock up his arms. One second the axe was coming down, the next it was sticking out of the ground below, buried up to its midpoint. The log was untouched.

"Did you miss?" said Nestor, one eyebrow raised in confusion. "Didn't think you could miss that close up."

Hiccup sighed, hardly surprised by the turn of events. "Great. Only I could make an axe so weak it can't even hit anything."

He yanked the axe out of the dirt and was contemplating another try when the log on top of the plank abruptly spilt into two neat halves, rolling off the plank and dropping to the dirt. Then the plank split into two neat halves, collapsing on top of the logs.

Hiccup and Nestor stood there for several seconds, mouths agape, before their brains shrugged off their surprise. Nestor went over to the cleaved wood and examined the remains while Hiccup held up the axe before his amazed and frightened eyes. He had wanted the axe to be special, but not this special. Not kill-everything-in-front-of-it special.

"Ho boy," he muttered. "I think we may have gone overboard here."

"You don't know the half of it," replied Nestor, holding up two halves of a small piece of limestone that had been cleanly cut in two. "This was behind the log. I was using it to keep the log from rolling off the board."

Hiccup could feel goosebumps break out all over his skin. His axe had gone from a spectacular failure to a spectacular success in the blink of an eye. He wasn't sure which was worse.


	11. The Longest Two Weeks Ever

**Author's Note (no extra titles added):** Yay, July. It's chock full of... Julyness.

- As of the end of this chapter, we're either at or past the halfway mark. I'm shooting to finishing this by the end of the summer season, though that assumes no other unexpected developments. I haven't had the best of weeks for various reasons (such as having a non-fanfic writing project under serious consideration by a publisher fall through) and my writing slowed as a result. I'm still ahead of the curve, though, so my chapter-a-week pace will continue for now.

- Next week, I will be part of a Special Ed Summer School camping trip. All this means is that the next chapter will be released Friday afternoon (7/8/11) instead of early morning... unless I get eaten by a bear, in which case the story will be further delayed.

Onwards.

**Chapter Ten: The Longest Two Weeks Ever**

Astrid had her this time.

The Arena echoing with Astrid's determined grunts, she lashed out with a short series of wide swings, forcing the Seer to keep her distance as the battleaxe split the air in front of her. The Seer's twin daggers lacked the range or the ferocity of Astrid's weapon of choice, but the Seer held them at the ready nonetheless, their points like serpent heads poised to strike.

This was a familiar move for Astrid, a familiar mistake. Until the Seer had come along, her method of axe play involved charging, swinging, and evading. Get in close, get in the first hit, and then get away before the counterattack. A tactic that failed every time as the Seer waited for her to overcompensate or tire and then strike in and slap her with the flat part of her daggers.

Throughout yesterday's session in the Arena and all through today's, Astrid never went more than a few axe strokes without feeling the irritating touch of the Seer's steel. The Seer anticipated her moves as if she screamed them out ahead of time. Her temper flared on at least one occasion, the Seer regarding her with disapproval when she swore too vehemently. Calm, always calm, was the Seer – not mockingly, not disrespecting, not even boringly. She even gave advice when Astrid screwed up badly.

This time, Astrid tried something different. Her motions were a traditional combination that she'd already used this session, something the Seer could easily counter. Astrid hoped she'd try.

After the fourth swing, the Seer took the bait. Astrid prepared to swing a fifth time, one that would go too far wide, and the Seer moved in to take advantage of the repeated mistake. Except that Astrid cut the swing short, looped it around, took a step back, and sent the axe hard the opposite direction.

It should have worked. The Seer was right in the kill zone, unable to flee backward in time. It should have connected.

Instead, the Seer rolled forward and under the swing, Astrid unable to compensate from her momentum. She then received twin slaps to her wrists, informing her that had this been actual combat she would have been summarily "disarmed."

Covered in a sweaty film, her arms aching from hours of fighting, and completely baffled by her move's failure, Astrid raised a hand and breathed, "I don't think I can take any more defeats today."

The Seer nodded and the two of them took seats on a splintering bench next to the weapons rack. Astrid felt some satisfaction that the Seer was wet about the armpits and breathing hard, though she didn't look nearly as fatigued. They took turns with the water bucket they used for hydration and spend a few precious moments cooling down.

"Nice move, by the way," said the Seer.

"Nice move?" replied Astrid. "You saw it coming."

"I almost didn't. I almost bought your feint. Most warriors wouldn't have escaped that move."

"Look, if you're just trying to be nice to me, I don't need the morale boost."

"I'm not 'nice' about anything," insisted the Seer. "I tell things as they are."

"Right, the Seer thing," said Astrid. "You sure you shouldn't be leading your people into battle instead of hiding under a cloak all the time?"

"Women don't lead men into battle," said the Seer, her statement lacking any of her usual confident tone. "Not amongst the Gunnarr. They rarely even pick up a blade."

"Really?" said Astrid. The notion that combat was a male-only career path was a foreign concept to her. "So there aren't more Gunnarr women who fight like you?"

"There are very few who fight, period," stated the Seer. "The Seer holds a special place in our traditions, but the Seer is rarely a warrior. Due to my position, I was allowed some… leeway… to train with the men folk. I have never sparred with another female warrior until now."

"I had no idea," said Astrid, her tone sympathetic.

The Seer's face remained dispassionate, though her eyes hinted at a reservoir of emotion underneath her demeanor. "I am heartened to see so many of your women taking up the blade. I knew this of the Berkians before I came here, but it's difficult to believe it true unless you witness it yourself. There are those in my clan that look down upon your tribe for allowing such weakness into your army."

Thanks to the Seer, Astrid had started to rethink her opinion of the Gunnarr. Surely a clan that had a warrior such as the Seer couldn't be all bad. But the last sentence out of the Seer's mouth managed to kill her goodwill. Women… a weakness?

Berk had had female warriors for most of the settlement's lifespan. Astrid knew the history and she was aware that most other tribes didn't have them. Berk had been forced to accept women into the rank-and-file early on because of the dragon raids, with every man, woman, and child imperiled on a constant basis. With the village's small population and harsh conditions, Berk needed every able hand that could hold a weapon. There were more men than women in the warrior ranks, and the Chief was always male even though the Village Elder could be either sex, but Astrid had never felt restricted by her gender when it came to being a warrior.

"Tomorrow begins the summit, and there's much I should attend to," said the Seer, standing up and walking to her cloak with little enthusiasm. She donned it without her usual flair, as if reluctant to resume her role.

Considering how tired Astrid was of getting thoroughly beaten, she surprised herself when she said, "Maybe we can get in one more session in the morning, before the summit begins."

The Seer hesitated before facing Astrid, her hood not yet down over her eyes. Astrid though she saw a minute crack in her emotionless façade before the Seer calmly nodded in agreement.

"I think there is time for that," she said, putting the cloak's hood over her face and disappearing into her Seer persona.

She made to leave the Arena when she suddenly froze in place, her hands going to her head and gripping it as if it was about to fall off. Then she lurched forward, staggering several steps before one of her hands caught the wooden pole in the center of the Arena. She likely would have collapsed to the dirt otherwise.

Astrid shot up and ran to the Seer, who used her other hand to wave Astrid away, her teeth clenched and her head pressed against the pole. Astrid could only watch as the Seer silently weathered the affliction that had mysteriously pounced on her, barely breathing and barely aware of her surroundings. Her jaws ground into one another, but she refused to utter a single moan or word of distress.

It went on far too long for Astrid's comfort, but the affliction finally passed out of the Seer. The cloaked girl quickly regained her composure, standing firm once more and looking as dour and cold as usual. Without another word, without a single hint or clue about what had just transpired, the Seer quickly…

* * *

><p>"…Left the Arena, as if nothing had occurred," finished Astrid. "I wanted to go after her, but I had the feeling she wasn't in the space for talking."<p>

"Better that you didn't, lass," said Gobber, currently armed with his favorite mug-arm attachment and a plate of mutton. He and the gathered Dragon Squad riders, all except Hiccup, sat under the flickering stars near a coastal vantage point that offered an excellent view of the blackened sea and the slightly-less-blackened village. A tame fire kept them company as the night air began to grow chill.

"It's why they call her the Seer, you know," continued Gobber after taking a swig of his beverage. "They say she has a direct link to the Gods, but it's not a pleasant experience for her. Every now and then they give her a vision or portent of the future. It might be a warning of a storm on the horizon… or it might be a warning not to eat that cheese wheel that's been sitting in your cellar for months. Some say that it's the Seer's visions, and not their warrior ways, that have allowed the Gunnarr to grow as powerful as they have."

It was too beautiful a night to spend the last Gunnarr-free evening crammed into the Great Hall, so Gobber had suggested that they spend it outdoors. They still needed to practice signals and go over the flight routine, but such concerns weren't front and center currently.

"That's a lot of responsibility to put on one girl's head," said Astrid.

"Maybe that's why she came to you," remarked Ruffnut over her plate of fish. "Maybe she needed to burn off some steam."

Astrid didn't think so, not with the way the Seer calmly went about sparring. The Seer was looking for something she wasn't getting from her people. It felt more like a need for company, for friendship.

"She sounds hot," said Snotlout, chewing on a chicken leg. "Is she single?"

"I didn't ask," answered Astrid irritably.

"She doesn't sound single," said Snotlout. "I might have a shot."

"You'd have a better shot with Fenrir than with the Seer," said Tuffnut, a toothpick between his teeth and a plate of well-cleaned bones on his lap.

"But that's still not no-chance," replied Snotlout. "The odds are not insurmountable. I'll do something cool like… I don't know, save her life. I hear that goes down well with the ladies."

Astrid rolled her eyes as Ruffnut groaned and said, "What is with men and the whole damsel-in-distress business? We don't swoon over every guy that comes to our rescue."

Tuffnut snickered. "Hey, if it didn't work, it wouldn't keep happening."

"Yeah?" replied Ruffnut defiantly. "Well, next time someone saves my bacon I'll just politely thank them and move on with my day."

"Anyway, can I join tomorrow's session, Astrid?" asked Snotlout.

"NO!" she firmly declared. "And if you show up, we'll use _you_ as a target dummy."

"Okay, okay!" said Snotlout. "It was just an idea."

"If the Seer gets too many visions all at once, will her brain explode?" said Fishlegs, a massive mutton leg in hand.

Fishlegs had finally learned that those questioning stares he got over some of his ideas were not complementary. As those stares began to materialize once more, he quickly added, "On a different subject, is Hiccup showing up soon?"

"He's giving Toothless some flight time," said Gobber. "The Chief decided it was safe enough to let him fly for a little bit. He needs to get back in shape before show time."

Fishlegs groaned as he thought about the summit. "I hope the Gunnarr are easy to impress. I'm not feeling all that confident about this."

"You guys will do fine," reassured Gobber. "You know your flyin', you know your signals, and you know how to handle yourselves in a fight. We couldn't ask for more."

"It'd be better if Green Lightning showed up again," said Fishlegs. "I bet he'd put the fear into the Gunnarr."

Green Lighting, a.k.a. Arc, had already taken on a legendary status among the young Vikings, the dragon equivalent of a guardian who did battle with the minions of the Underworld and left when the heroics were over. Astrid hoped she was never forced to tell them the truth. She didn't have the heart to burst their bubble.

"No thanks," said Snotlout. "If Green Lightning shows up, then those bone things will show up."

"Might make the summit more exciting if they did," commented Tuffnut.

Astrid was only half-listening as she looked out to the north, knowing that she couldn't see Toothless racing through the night sky but still watching for him nonetheless. She had a feeling that Hiccup was going to be late again tonight – he had one more stop to make before returning.

It would be the last time. She kept telling herself that. After tonight, this detour in Hiccup's life would be over. The summit would commence and Nestor and Arc would be gone before it concluded, or so Nestor had reassured. The Gunnarr would be convinced to keep giving peace a chance, the village would be able to give their war-free life another chance, and maybe she'd feel secure enough to give her and Hiccup a chance.

She had to keep telling herself that.

* * *

><p>It was a good thing that Hiccup hadn't eaten. Otherwise he'd have decorated Toothless's scales with his stomach contents by now.<p>

Toothless conducted his third spinning loop in a row, the G-force pinning Hiccup to the saddle as he gleefully spun through the air. He had already dive-bombed mountaintops, skimmed the ocean surface, popped in and out of several wafting clouds, and even played a game of tag with a rider-less red-scaled Nadder that had been out on a fishing run. The dragon's joy at being airborne again would have been more infectious if it wasn't tying knots in Hiccup's stomach.

He didn't want to complain about it, nor did he want to ruin Toothless's fun just yet and force him to land with the rudder. But Hiccup spent all his time now shutting his eyes and wishing away his growing nausea. He was used to a lot of acrobatics, but this was overkill.

He'd just learned a new lesson about owning dragons – if they can fly, let them. Otherwise they go crazy.

"Pal… ugh…" Hiccup's stomach warned him that it had reached its limit for spinning around as bile reached his mouth. He gritted his teeth and managed to speak without having more than words come out. "Bud, unless you want another bath tonight, I think we should cool it on the spinning."

Toothless agreed and straightened out, adopting a pleasantly calm route over the island. Hiccup's stomach remained unsettled until the world ceased spinning altogether, then began to relax as things stabilized in Hiccup's head.

"It's safe to say you're just fine in the air," said Hiccup. "Landings may be tricky, though. We better find out how tricky. You know where to go, right?" Toothless waggled his head and set course for Nestor's camp, their last stop before heading back to Berk.

The landing turned out to be less tricky than feared. Toothless approached the clearing near Nestor's cave at a glacial pace, gently letting his rear legs take the brunt of the landing and then falling onto his forward right leg. Only then did his still-bandaged left leg touch the ground. The wounds had closed and sealed, new scales already helping to seal the damaged area, but too much jostling would delay the healing further.

As Hiccup dismounted and walked with Toothless toward Nestor's camp, he could hear Nestor talking to someone or something. His thoughts focused on Arc, which immediately made his thoughts unhappy ones, and he slowed down so he could hear what was being said. But he soon discerned the nature of the one-sided conversation and laughed as he walked on.

"Shoo! Away! Lots of fish out there! No fish for you here!"

In the lightless gloom of the camp, Nestor was futilely attempting to talk a chirping Terrible Terror into leaving. The little dragon was looking at him eagerly and expectantly, Nestor flinging his arms around in frustration.

"What gives?" said Nestor to Hiccup as he approached. "I gave this little guy a fish head and now he won't leave me alone. So much for random acts of kindness."

"Yeah, they tend to glom onto whoever feeds them," said Hiccup. He managed to rescue Nestor by convincing the Terror to leave for fishier parts, Nestor shaking his head at the ease of which Hiccup could commiserate with dragonkind.

"It's a little dark over here," said Hiccup. "No fire?"

"Trying to actually not attract attention until the village was tucked in for the night," replied Nestor. "As you well know, I suck at being subtle. Oh, and I put the axe under the moss-covered boulder back at the pond. No one should stumble across it."

"All the boulders have moss on them," said Hiccup.

"The moss-covered boulder that resembles Arc's rear end," clarified Nestor.

"Thanks… and gross," replied Hiccup with a mix of unhappiness and gratitude. "I hate to hide it, but if I give that axe to Astrid she'll end up using it and people will start asking too many questions and so on."

As Hiccup was mostly guessing at Nestor's location inside the gloom-covered camp, Nestor relented to a small fire now that Hiccup and Toothless were around to take credit for it if they were discovered. Hiccup checked Toothless's injury and after seeing it no worse for wear he leaned back against his lounging dragon chum, whose mood was several shades lighter for having flown again, and shot the breeze with Nestor for a time.

He couldn't stay too long, as Gobber, Astrid, and the others expected him to show up eventually. But he felt the creeping stress of the Gunnarr summit every time he stopped occupying his mind with other things. He needed a few more minutes of freedom before his life was consumed by it for the next five days.

Saying goodbye to Nestor was part of it as well. The man was a friend, one that Hiccup wished could walk around Berk without fear of horrible death. For some reason, Hiccup had a tendency to attract those kinds of friends.

"So I thought that if I couldn't lift one catapult round, why not divide it into three smaller rounds that added up to the same weight," explained Hiccup, deep into one of his anecdotes. "_That_ I could manage to lift."

"Which is why your new and improved tri-a-pult had the three arms," finished Nestor, seeing where this was going. Toothless had his ears perked up as well – he hadn't heard this one.

"Right. So I had the launcher positioned on the ridge overlooking my house and it stayed there unused for months until we got raided again. I had to hoof it all the way up the ridge and got the tri-a-pult prepared just as the dragons were retreating. Luckily they were retreating my way and I had a clear shot at a Nadder, so I set the calibration and let fly."

"And the reason why the tri-a-pult isn't in the Viking arsenal is because…"

"I didn't quite have synchronization down. All three rounds were supposed to hit the target together, but instead they hit each other in mid-air and went off in different directions. Two of the rounds flew out to sea… and the third took out the chimney on my house. I spent the rest of the summer brushing up on my masonry."

Nestor laughed lightly. "So the grapple launcher incident was not an isolated event."

Toothless nudged Hiccup from behind, as if saying_ that's my Hiccup,_ and Hiccup found himself chuckling as well. "Actually, it was probably the least damaging one to date. But to change the subject away from me, how goes the translation?"

"Slow, and I doubt I'll have more information to offer by the time Arc gets back." Nestor then paused, scratched his head as if digging some nugget of an idea out of his mind, and said, "The Artisan engineer who wrote the diary was working on something, and he's very vague about it. Chances were that he didn't want to accidentally reveal it in his memoirs. But there was one word that seemed important, something the writer danced around as he described his daily activities. A word that slipped into his writing without him realizing it."

"Which is?" asked Hiccup.

"Monolith."

Hiccup mulled the word over silently and then repeated it aloud. "Monolith… no idea what it means, yet it scares me."

"Same here. Maybe Arc can shed some light on it."

"Are you going to be alright with Arc?" asked Hiccup rather bluntly, unable to resist asking the question after the dragon's name cropped up a second time. "Once he learns that you've been telling secrets…"

"He's not going to do anything," said Nestor. "He'll be unhappy and he'll be insulting, but that's nothing new."

"I still think you need to get some distance from him, for your own sanity if nothing else."

Nestor didn't answer the question, unless staring off into the dying embers of their campfire counted. When he did speak, his voice seemed very distant. "You know what convinced me to travel with Arc? It was one of his tales about the Hyperions and how they were the protectors of both the past and the future. There was one grand epic where Arc comes off like a knight-errant while he slays the evil sea monster from the deep. It was… corny, to say the least, and I suspect he was exaggerating the size of the squid he was wrestling with, but at the end he recites this oath that every Hyperion takes upon receiving the Hyperion essence. If I remember it correctly…"

Nestor took a second to double-check the words and then began to recite the oath in a slow, respectful tone. "We stand against the mistakes of the past, so that they don't harm the future. We stand between the world we care about and the ones that wish to destroy it. We stand for the one thing worth standing for… hope."

Hiccup heard the oath and felt moved by it. Ever since hearing the origin story of the Hyperions, he often wondered what it had to be like to be nigh immortal, to carry a treasure trove of secrets and powers around for centuries while watching the world change and move on. Maybe it was different for dragons, but it didn't sound like much of a privilege to Hiccup, not if being a Hyperion meant you were destined to outlive everyone you cared about over and over and over again. You'd have to really believe in that oath to be willing to make such a commitment, not just for yourself but also for the world.

Toothless had listened intently to the oath as well, though exactly what he thought of it was difficult to tell. The thought of Toothless somehow acquiring an essence and becoming a Hyperion seemed downright absurd to Hiccup, though he had to admit that his reaction was more emotional than logical. He didn't know how Hyperions picked other Hyperions or if the choosing process was even voluntary on the part of the Hyperion-to-be. For all Hiccup knew, Toothless could be perfect for the job or completely wrong for it.

All Hiccup knew was that he didn't want Toothless to change, and he hoped the decision never became a possibility. Maybe it was a selfish wish, but it's what he felt. Still, the oath was a good one, a noble one.

"Catchy," was all Hiccup could offer as a reply, however.

"I thought so, too," said Nestor somberly. "I just wish the dragon that said those words was the same one I know now. But I'd like to believe that even if Arc can no longer live up to his oath… maybe I can."

The conversation ended soon afterwards. They both knew what tomorrow was going to bring. Arc would return, either having destroyed Cervantes or knowing where Cervantes was and requiring Nestor's help or having lost the scent one more and needing to move on. Nestor was certain that they'd be gone before sundown.

The summit began tomorrow as well. Viking formalities, Viking feasts, Viking politics, and quite possibly a Viking funeral or two before it was all over. Hiccup's part in the process didn't begin for three days more, but as the chieftain's son he had to show up and look… well, he had to show up regardless. No more time for tinkering or chumming.

They didn't say goodbye, exactly. As Nestor had put it, every time they thought they were parting ways permanently the Fates found a way to have them blunder into each other once more. So… until next time, hopefully with the world in a more peaceful state of mind.

As he took to the air upon Toothless, zooming back to Berk, Hiccup sadly wondered if peace was even possible in the world they inhabited.

* * *

><p>As a child, Hiccup used to have a fear of forest goblins, those pesky little creatures that lived in every hollow tree and who were legendary kleptomaniacs of the stealing-children variety. Despite his dad's assurances that the little imps had been eaten up by dragons long ago, Hiccup had maintained a sizeable fear of going to the outhouse in the middle of the night due to being grabbed by goblins and shoved into some rotting log, there to be endlessly tormented or tickled or whatever goblins did with their purloined children.<p>

So it was natural for Hiccup to instinctively, though very briefly, think _Goblins!_ when he actually _was_ abducted in the middle of the night two seconds after stepping out of the outhouse.

Prior to this, the night had been uneventful. Hiccup and Toothless got back to Berk, Toothless got dinner, Hiccup met with Gobber and the others and went over their plans for the demonstration yet again, Hiccup met with his dad and went over the plans for the demonstration _yet again_, whereupon his dad ordered him to get some sleep as tomorrow would be a big, early-rising day.

With the pale moonlight glinting off his light-colored nightclothes, Hiccup was in the process of gently closing the outhouse door and tiptoeing past Toothless, who was fast asleep in his dragon house a few yards away, when his feet suddenly left the grass. The abduction was so quiet that Toothless didn't even stir. Hiccup was rudely yanked into the cloud-spotted sky, the night air breezing by him as he went airborne. It felt like a great hand lifting him away, though he couldn't see what had grabbed him. He just knew he was grabbed, gripping pressure all around him and over his mouth, stifling his cries.

Then the culprit's identity dawned on him as the island flowed by underneath him, and his suspicions were confirmed a minute later when he was unceremoniously dumped into a clearing not far from the village. Hiccup brushed dirt off his nightclothes as his abductor dropped his Shroud and landed in front of him, the expression on Arc's face making Hiccup almost wish he'd been abducted by goblins instead.

"Have you told anyone about the location of the powercore?" demanded Arc, his tone unquestioningly hostile.

"Hello to you too, Arc," said Hiccup, using his pent-up anger toward the dragon to counteract his fear.

"This is not a smart time for flippant remarks, Young Hiccup," threatened Arc.

"It never is," said Hiccup. "Why should I tell you, anyway, considering you probably know the answer?"

"I do not see all, Young Hiccup, and my concerns are far bigger than your petty need for emotional retribution."

"Well, gee, if that's the case, then do whatever you're going to do to me," said Hiccup, too fatigued and upset to care that he was saying a very dumb thing. But his words did make Arc hesitate.

"Do you think me a monster, Young Hiccup?" said Arc, almost sounding hurt by the idea.

This time, Hiccup hesitated instead. "I think… No, I don't, but you don't have any problem using people, putting them in danger…"

"For good reasons, Young Hiccup."

"Really? Good reasons? Nestor doesn't agree with you there."

"Nestor is like you: young, shortsighted, and poor at keeping silent."

"Thanks for stating your high opinion of us. Did you even talk to Nestor first or did you go right to spying on us again?"

"I have not spoken to Nestor, and yes, I did overheard your conversation earlier tonight. It's easier to determine the depths of your foolishness that way." Arc lowered his head so that it was inches away from Hiccup. "He's told you far too much, Young Hiccup, and I have no reason to trust you with our secrets."

"Like you're one to talk," shot back Hiccup, mustering up some indignation along with his anger and hoping it would keep him from wondering what the upset Hyperion had in store for him. "You've spied on me, lied to me, put me and my friends in danger, and now you've added kidnapping. If this is how you treat everyone around you, is it any wonder Nestor trusts me more than he trusts you?"

Hiccup didn't think he had the power to rattle Arc, yet rattle him he did. For all of half-a-second, the dragon's scary gaze withdrew and was replaced by something that Hiccup dared to call remorse. But then Arc's hostile glare returned almost immediately, though the hostility was thinner than before.

"I am not here to explain myself, Young Hiccup," he snarled. "Especially not to _you_."

"Me? What did I do other than getting sucked into your mess? Or is this one of those long-term grudges where one of my ancestors did something wrong to you in the past? Did my great-great-great-granddad kill one of your friends?"

"No, Young Hiccup, _you_ did!" spat out the looming dragon.

The impact of Arc's dreadful accusation didn't fully register on Hiccup at first, Hiccup feeling mostly angry and confused at the dragon's statement. Arc took it worse than Hiccup – he suddenly looked ashamed, repelled by his own heated words. Hiccup was still trying to figure out what had sparked such anger, because unless you counted fish and ants Hiccup's kill count was non-existent… except for…

That's when it all came together, Hiccup's jaw dropping as one thought synched to another. He couldn't even keep the revelation quiet, the sad discovery spilling from his mouth as his brain tried to get organized again.

"Red Death… Latimar…"

"That was… unfair of me," remarked Arc, facing away from Hiccup and still as shame-faced as before. "I'm better than this."

"Red Death was Latimar," said Hiccup, finally getting his brain to work but still overwhelmed by the news.

Something about Hiccup's tone jogged Arc out of his dismay, his anger gone for the time being as he faced Hiccup again. "So Nestor did tell you the story of Latimar after all. You Vikings and your names. You can't even make up your mind on what to call him. Red Death, Green Death… Queen Dragon. Inaccurate on all counts, incidentally. He had only one name that mattered, the name the Cervantes took from him so long ago."

"Arc… " stammered Hiccup, still unable to wrap his mind around the idea that the monstrous dragon that almost destroyed his people, whose fiery finish had robbed Hiccup of one of his precious limbs… had been a Hyperion.

"No, Hiccup, you did nothing wrong," said Arc, his face neutral once more and his tone soft. "The creature you knew, Red Death, was not my friend any longer. You merely ended his suffering. I acknowledge that. But when we're in pain, even someone of my age can lash out on the undeserving."

"I didn't want to kill him, Arc," explained Hiccup, his voice barely a whisper. "I had to, but I didn't want to. I still have nightmares about it, watching him go up in flames…"

"That's because you have a conscience," said Arc. "It speaks well of you. Understand that I would not have burdened you with this knowledge had you not talked to Nestor. I do not fault you – there is only one being I fault."

"Cervantes," replied Hiccup. His legs were feeling rubbery all of a sudden and he sat himself down on the fragrant grass so as not to topple over. "What was he like – Latimar, I mean?"

Arc sat his large bulk down near Hiccup so that he wouldn't be talking too far over the boy's head. "He was the one that decided that I should become a Hyperion. He presided over my rebirth, convincing my predecessor that I would be a fitting candidate for the essence. He was fair, rough around the edges, but keenly aware of his great stature and image. No Hyperion alive knows what species he came from, only that he was the last of his kind… or the first of his kind."

"Huh?" said Hiccup.

"None of us can recall ever seeing another great dragon the likes of Latimar," explained Hiccup, "and our memories are long. If Latimar knew more, he was unwilling to share it. I often wondered if he was some aberration or some lost experiment from the Artisan Empire… or that he wasn't even a native to our world. But this was the world he adopted, and he was as good a steward to it as any Hyperion. I've seen many kingdoms rise and fall during my time, yet our friendship outlasted them all. We fought many battles together, though I often felt that I could have sat back and let him do it all and the outcome wouldn't have changed. But he never made me feel inadequate, and I relished his companionship. He was one of the few things that made the long years bearable."

"Then Cervantes came along," remarked Hiccup.

"Indeed, he did. I wasn't around when Latimar befriended Cervantes. Latimar never told me what he needed from the young man, or why he'd been willing to part with his knowledge. I hope it was for a good reason, because Latimar ultimately paid for his misjudgment with everything he had. Cervantes drained him of almost all of his power and his mind, though he left within Latimar a thin fragment of Hyperion essence out of some distorted sense of decency."

Arc's head drooped as he continued to speak, old emotions resurfacing once more. "I remember the last time I saw Latimar, some three-hundred and twenty years ago. He lived in this area, amongst the ice and the snow and the unending cold. He was using a volcano as his home; I'm sure you know of what I speak. My friend couldn't recognize me, couldn't speak one word, and could barely withhold his instinctual urge to devour me. He was using a few lingering Hyperion tricks to hide the volcano, to summon the other dragon species to do his bidding – to feed him. I considered destroying him, to release him from his sorry existence and spare others from the threat he now posed. But…"

"But he was your friend," said Hiccup.

Arc nodded. "Dragons have their dreams, Young Hiccup. Mine was to find Cervantes and have him undue what he did to Latimar, even if I knew that such a thing was likely impossible. I left Latimar alone, believing that he would cause little damage in this sheltered part of the world. I didn't anticipate your people moving here, though. Even when I knew that his actions were provoking a war between humans and dragons, I couldn't bring myself to intervene. Hyperions are connected to one another through our essences, so I felt Latimar go without needing to see his grave. My one last dream dashed… and from then on all I wanted to do was make Cervantes pay in full for his crimes."

"So this is all about revenge," said Hiccup, feeling a smidge of hostility begin to override his newfound sympathy for the old dragon. "Do you think that justifies your actions or how you treat Nestor?"

Hiccup expected to get a new bout of anger from the dragon, but Arc didn't take the bait. His demeanor was downright sad now, almost depressing to look at. "The curse of intelligence, Young Hiccup, is that you can justify almost anything. To find a monster like Cervantes, to destroy him, I had to think like him. I had to be willing to act like him. I told myself that this is more than vengeance, that there is something Cervantes is after that merits my means. Latimar didn't live here just because he liked the cold, Young Hiccup. He knew something about the Artisan Empire, a secret entombed out there in the ice. Something he watched over before he was robbed of his mind. Something he refused to even hint at - something that terrified _him_.

"But… it seems that through both inaction and action I have caused injury to you and your people, and that is something I hope to square with you one day, Young Hiccup."

Hiccup wasn't sure how to feel about that. Part of him would have been happy with Arc declaring Berk a no-fly zone and never returning. That would have been square enough. Yet the remorse behind Arc's confession was getting through to Hiccup, and he wondered how much of the dragon's disposition was just an act he showed to the world.

"And Nestor?" he asked, hoping there was also remorse toward his apprentice.

"Nestor," said Arc, and he managed to look even sadder. "He told you how he met me, yes? I suppose you must think of me as some amoral mastermind, plotting how I would use him for my own purposes."

"Actually, the thought did cross my mind once or twice," said Hiccup. "Getting kidnapped didn't help, you know."

"Well, I never had a plan for him," said Arc quietly. "Truly, my desires were simple. I talked with him… because I was lonely. And when he was struck down by the plague, it was equally simple for me – he was my friend, and I wanted him to live."

Hiccup believed him, but he did his best to hide it. He wasn't ready to trust Arc again, and he hoped his scowl would prompt the dragon to keep talking. It worked.

"I knew that saving his life would forever set him apart from his people," continued Arc. "But a Hyperion's life is not one a human can share for long, for so many reasons. I had to be sure he could survive on his own – you are responsible for the life you save, after all. I know that I have not been… kind… to him, certainly not as kind as he deserves, but he will be better off for it."

"Well, I'd say you did a bang-up job," said Hiccup sourly. "He's about ready to leave you."

"That's the way it should be," said Arc, his tone completely at odds with his statement.

Hiccup caught the contradiction, and whatever anger he had toward the dragon was eclipsed by a wave of pity. Arc was a far lonelier creature than even Hiccup could relate to. An "anomaly" among dragons, feared by humans, destined to watch the world live and die around him. He'd lost the one constant in his life – Latimar. And he was refusing to allow Nestor to become a new constant, even though it was plain as day that Arc desired it. In his own way, he was protecting Nestor.

"It wasn't a mistake, was it?" questioned Hiccup. "The barrier-field… you gave it to him on purpose."

A light chuckle escaped Arc's mouth. "Whether I meant to or not, it was still a mistake. It has marked him ever since. There are ways to remove it… dangerous ways, yet still doable. But it may be the only way he will gain any semblance of a normal life."

"Have you ever thought about talking to Nestor about all this?" said Hiccup, hoping to egg Arc into showing a little warmth to his friend. "He could use some reassurance from his… uh, mentor."

"What he could use is a different life," said Arc, standing back up and flexing his wings in preparation for flight. "Once Cervantes falls, Nestor will get it. I have finally narrowed down the necromancer's location. Come the next sundown, the world will be free of him… and so will I."

Arc's desolate mood evaporated all at once, his stern attitude returning as he mentioned Cervantes. He was mentally gearing himself up for battle, those repressed feelings he'd just shared to Hiccup repressed once again. "I should return you to your home now," he declared.

"No, I'll just walk," said Hiccup, not desiring another trip in Arc's not-so-tender grip. "It's not far."

"As you wish," said Arc. "You are a curious creature, Young Hiccup. Most humans I have encountered ask few questions. Most run from the unknown, or try to destroy it. If our respective peoples are to stand a chance at surviving into the future, we will need more like you. I truly hope that Berk may one day be the rule and not the exception. Attend to your own life and live well, Young Hiccup. Your part in our affairs is over."

Hiccup watched Arc ascend into the sky for the briefest of moments before the dragon put on his Shroud and faded from view. Then he began to walk home, more tired than ever and burdened with yet more secrets. But he wished Arc well, something he hadn't ever expected to wish. And he firmly hoped Cervantes received the justice he'd escaped for three centuries.

* * *

><p>The assembled throng of Vikings greeted the rising sun as they filled up the cliffs and bluffs high over the village dock. The entire village had turned out to meet the arriving Gunnarr, wearing their shields and brandishing their weapons in a combined show of force and respect. There was much jostling and complaining as the people of Berk peeked over or between their comrades to see the red sails of the approaching longboats. Several manned Berkian longboats were anchored off to the side, partly to make room for the guests but also to remind the Gunnarr to be on their best behavior.<p>

The dragons were present as well, many of them airborne over the island while others perched on houses or patiently waited with their riders. There had been some talk of corralling the dragons so to not make the Gunnarr nervous until Stoic put an end to such discussion. He _wanted_ the Gunnarr nervous; it would make them that much more amenable to negotiation.

The Dragon Rider Squad stood together near the ramped entrance to the docks, their respective dragon mounts milling about behind them. Stoic and Gobber were there as well, Stoic at the front of the gathering with Hiccup at his side. They wore their most auspicious warrior gear, which worked to enhance Stoic's broad shoulders and thick arms but only served to exacerbate Hiccup's overall thinness.

Toothless hung back a few feet from Hiccup, the bandage off his leg earlier than the healer advised. The whole proceeding was mostly for show, to impress upon the Gunnarr what strength the Berkians had at their disposal, but a bandage anywhere on Berk's star dragon would not help matters. He kept off his injured leg as much as possible.

The Seer and her bodyguards had passed by the gathered Berkians and were briskly walking down to the end of the dock as the ten longboats drew near. According to Gunnarr custom, it was the Seer's job to reassure the chieftain that it was safe to proceed with the summit. Hiccup hoped she was satisfied with Berk's security or else this was going to be a short summit.

"This part's full of pomp and circumstance," said Stoic to his son. "All you have to do is stand and not drop anything."

"Easier said than done," replied Hiccup, his muscles complaining from the strain of the shield and one-bladed axe in his hands. "I swear this stuff's gotten heavier."

"A little too much riding and not enough melee practice will do that to you," said Stoic. "Not to worry, son – it'll be your dark friend they'll be lookin' at, not you."

The first of the longboats came alongside the dock and began to unload its crew, a full complement of fierce Gunnarr led by a large man clad in black leather and a one-horned helmet. Hiccup couldn't tell much about him from this distance, but he assumed the guy was the Gunnarr chief, Stonefist, by the way the others deferred to him. The Seer strolled right up to him and started conferring with him about something undoubtedly related to Berkian hospitality. Whatever she said apparently satisfied the Gunnarr chief, as he moved past the Seer and to the sloping walkways leading up to Berk, the rest of his men following behind. The other longboats were landing now and unloading, the dock filling up with Gunnarr troops in short order.

"My turn," said Stoic as he strode forward, signaling some of his men to follow him down the path. "Hiccup, you might as well go stand with your squad while I greet Stonefist. This might take a minute or two."

Hiccup obeyed, more than happy to blend in with his friends. He could never pass himself off as fearsome and he was glad his dad wasn't trying. He'd let Toothless do that for him, his scaled friend now at his side and warily eyeballing the growing numbers of the Gunnarr.

While most of his friends had their attention focused on the meeting below, Astrid managed to sidle up to Hiccup and quietly whisper in his ear, "Have I mentioned that you're kind of cute when you're playing Viking?"

"You're in a chipper mood," replied Hiccup, matching her whisper. "Had a good fight with the Seer?'

"Eh… we had one match and then she left," said Astrid. "Her mind was other places… and she _still_ beat me."

"So you're just happy to be here?" asked Hiccup.

"I'm happy that these two weeks are over," she answered. "I happy that other… things… are over."

"Yeah," said Hiccup, trying to hide his mixed emotions over the matter. "These were the longest two weeks ever, and we're not in the clear yet."

"I think this summit will go well," said Astrid. "We've got a good squad, the Gunnarr didn't come with more men than they promised, and your dad's in control of things. And the Seer assured me that she wants peace as well. Five more days to go, and then maybe things will finally settle down."

Hiccup nodded but didn't say anything. Hiccup did want things to settle down, to go back to the easier days of free flying, dragon training, tinkering, and yearning after Astrid. Yet he couldn't help but feel like he was missing out on the bigger story. He didn't want to endanger anyone again. He didn't want to leave Berk to go help Nestor and Arc in their battles. But he had been a part of something wilder and greater than anything Berk had to offer, and it was disappointing that he couldn't see how it ended. It was disappointing that he couldn't share what he knew with his father, that there were secrets between them once again. At least he wasn't alone with the burden. Astrid and Toothless were with him on this, even though Astrid was obviously relieved to be done with Nestor and Arc.

As the Gunnarr began to march up to the cliffs and past Hiccup and his group, he had to put away such thoughts again and return to the here-and-now. His dad walked with the Gunnarr chief at the front of the procession, making introductions between Stonefist and various Vikings.

When they got to Hiccup and his squad, Hiccup tried to stand as erect as he could and hoped the chief couldn't see how his arms quivered under the weight of his war gear. Stonefist wore an impartial expression, his thin black beard poorly hiding a thicket of scars that graced his chin and throat. He wasn't nearly as big as Stoic, but he had the same imposing air around him, as if he had the power to snap his fingers and summon a hurricane whenever he desired.

"Well met, son of Stoic," Stonefist dispassionately said. "I have heard much about you. I look forward to hearing the tale of your triumph over Red Death from the one who did the deed for a change."

"Ah, well… I mean, thank you, sir," said Hiccup, catching himself from making an etiquette breach. He may have even flinched a little at the dead dragon's name – his one crowning moment of heroics forever ruined by his knowledge of who Red Death once was.

Stonefist nodded curtly, his gaze lingering on Toothless and the dragons behind the squad. He stared at Toothless the longest, the dragon and the chieftain sizing each other up before Stonefist moved on.

The only Gunnarr Hiccup recognized as they marched into Berk was the Seer and Cragfist, the belligerent son of Stonefist who had come to Berk those long two weeks ago. The Seer gave no acknowledgement of either Hiccup or Astrid as she walked by. Cragfist, on the other hand, gave Hiccup an unmistakable sneer. Hiccup was prepared to pretend he hadn't seen it, but Toothless wasn't. The dragon managed a quiet yet threatening growl at Cragfist, who was clearly taken aback by Toothless's reaction but didn't stop to make a big deal of it.

Hiccup smiled to himself once Cragfist had gone on. Toothless hadn't even warmed up yet and he was intimidating the Gunnarr. Maybe they were going to pull this off without any violence after all.

It was unfortunate that Hiccup lacked the Seer's gift of vision, for it might have kicked in to warn him that the bigger story continued to unfold around him. It would have told him that the wonders and horrors of the last two weeks were going to pale significantly when compared to what was coming at him.


	12. All Your Fault

**Author's Camping Note: **Did not get eaten by a bear.

I wanted to say again to everyone reading and reviewing that I really have appreciated your comments and attention. This has been fun and uplifting, which is a big deal for me.

Onwards.

**Chapter Eleven: All Your Fault**

Stalwart the Stout – one of Berk's most legendary heroes, immortalized in everlasting stone and leading the parade of statues within the Great Hall. The sculptor had carefully captured his bristly beard, his powerful shoulders, even his scarred scalp, and done it so successfully that many Vikings believed that it wasn't a statue at all but Stalwart's petrified body on display. It was said that he was the one that led the first Vikings to Berk, the first to train the beleaguered Berkians into dragon slayers, the first to get his likeness carved into the rock when he fell defending Berk against the umpteenth raid.

The torch-fed shadows covered Stalwart's stone-blind eyes in darkness, but Stoic could feel them following him as he led Stonefist around the Great Hall, the Gunnarr chief inspecting the suitability of the hall for the summit. Stoic sometimes imagined what the great hero would think of his beloved Berk now, what he'd think of Stoic and his decision to befriend the very enemy Stalwart died fighting. He had faith that Stalwart would have wanted his people to live in peace and prosperity and not continue with a pointless war, but faith wasn't truth. For all Stoic knew, Stalwart would have held up Stonefist as the ideal Berkian, not Stoic.

The inspection was a formality – Stonefist had visited Berk many years ago and had been impressed by the magnificence of the Hall. But Stonefist couldn't show any concession or weakness at this stage of the summit; he had to verify the meeting arrangements himself, not trust the words of underlings and opposition. He did leave his men outside, the two chiefs currently the sole occupants of the Hall.

"I'm surprised you don't have your own statue," commented Stonefist as they walked around another Berkian hero. "After all, you are the chief who ended the Dragon War."

Stoic laughed the thought away. "I _presided _over the end of the Dragon War. My son deserves the statue, but he doesn't want one."

"Hmm," said Stonefist. "Too bad. You wouldn't even need much rock." The Gunnarr chief almost laughed at his own joke when he caught the dirty look from Stoic and stifled it. "I meant that it's always good to honor your heroes."

"He _is_ honored, Stonefist," said Stoic. "Just as we honor those who fell defending our village."

"I never questioned that you didn't," said Stonefist. "I know that you haven't forgotten _all_ things Viking."

"We've forgotten none of it," Stoic adamantly defended. "We stand with our brothers across the sea, as always."

"Do you?" Stonefist calmly asserted.

"You dare ask that?" shot back Stoic, stopping in his tracks. "We were not the ones to begin hostilities. Your ships have been harassing ours."

"I can't be held responsible for the actions of all my people, Stoic," said Stonefist, halting in front of Stoic, "but if my warriors did feel the need to threaten yours, they were well within their rights."

"How do you figure that?"

"Take a good look at your village through our eyes, Stoic. For three centuries, we tolerated your people's lack of participation in our raids and conquests. For three centuries, we turned an eye when you began to incorporate your women into the warrior ranks. We knew you had reasons – the dread dragon race that continuously assaulted your people as well as ours. Your efforts saved us the trouble of dealing with them, and we thanked you for it. But we cannot turn our eyes away any longer, Stoic."

"I'm confused, Stonefist," said Stoic. "Is this about our dragons, or is this about Berk?"

"It concerns both," said Stonefist. "You've let Berk change too much, Stoic. You've let your son's influence override your judgment."

"My son has nothing to do with this!" growled Stoic, his temper beginning to simmer. "Say what you will of me, Stonefist, but if I hear you utter another word about my son, you'll be leaving Berk with less of you than when you arrived!"

The air between the two chiefs grew dangerously tense as they stared at one another, Stonefist flexing his fingers as if deciding how to best use them on Stoic. But then he broke the tension by chuckling and saying, "Good to see that you still get mad for the right reasons. Perhaps there's hope for you yet. Come, I require a drink or ten."

Stonefist headed for the door and Stoic followed, letting his temper ease down and praising Thor that he didn't ruin the summit before it even began. Stonefist's attitude and subtle insults had told him much. The dragons weren't the only facets of Berk that threatened Stonefist, and no amount of reassurances about Berk's solidarity with the Gunnarr would change that. Stonefist would not be easily swayed to maintain peace, not if he believed that a war would force the Berkians to adopt the Gunnarr way, to embrace dragon killing and village raiding again. Not unless he could be truly convinced that the price of peace was preferable to the cost of war.

Stoic had his work cut out for him.

* * *

><p>Hiccup had never been through a Viking summit before, since the last one held in Berk occurred over three decades ago, but the experience was akin to your typical dragon raid – loud, chaotic, and exciting.<p>

It was also like a dragon raid in that he was stuck in Gobber's smith shop, though this time around his banishment from the festivities was self-imposed.

"Heads up, lad," yelled Gobber as he tossed two more bent daggers Hiccup's way, landing on the growing pile of mauled weapons waiting to be mended. Then he went back to pounding madly away on his current task at the anvil, his forehead slick with moisture.

"At this rate, they'll be using sharpened sticks before sundown," he remarked. "Good thing sticks aren't in my job description."

Hiccup sweated near the forge, working the blower and heating up another pile of weapons as fast as he could, but clearly losing ground. He didn't gripe about it since it kept him out of the extra-manly contests going on throughout the village. For starters, right near the shop was a boisterous wrestling match between two half-naked Vikings, a game of throwing axes that kept punching holes in the side of a neighboring cottage, and a marathon arm-wrestling session full of strained biceps and creative insults.

Gunnarr versus Berkian Vikings – the theme of the day. The difference in attitudes was striking. Hiccup had watched the throwing axe game during one round where a reserved Gunnarr with an eye patch nailed the same bull's-eye five times in a row, all with small nods and cheers from his fellow Gunnarr. The Berkian contender, Loudbelch, could only do it three times, but the Berkians roared their support at every opportunity.

At present, the eye-patched Gunnarr lingered at the window next to Gobber, chatting it up with the blacksmith after having dropped off a pile of discarded weapons to add to their workload. Hiccup finally recognized him as the Viking that stayed Cragfist's temper two weeks ago – Gobber called him Headsnapper. Hiccup tried not to think about how the man must have gotten _that_ name.

"Only mid-afternoon, and you're already running low on party favors," commented Headsnapper to Gobber, who was pounding an axe back into working shape. "The tales of Berk's departure from the warrior ways are true, I see."

"We may be rusty on the sharp end of things," replied Gobber. "But the ale won't be running out anytime soon."

"Thank the Gods for that," said Headsnapper. "The Chief is always in a better mood with a pint in hand." Despite his jovial mood, he continuously kept watch on the Night Fury guarding the side of the smithy. Toothless was resting on his haunches while he scanned the crowd for troublemakers. He did not like the Gunnarr at all, always giving them the evil eye and snarling if they got too close. Most dragons had been banned from the festivities – they made the Gunnarr nervous. Toothless refused to go, choosing guard duty at the smithy. No one argued.

Hiccup always felt at ease when Toothless was around, more so today. Cragfist had come to the shop to egg Hiccup into a humiliating contest of strength, the contemptuous smile on his face fading as soon as he realized Toothless was watching. He left after the dragon gave him an ominous glare. Cragfist's disdain toward Hiccup managed to make Snotlout's behavior appear almost cordial. One chief's son pitted against another chief's son – a competition that Hiccup had no intention of participating in.

With Gobber distracted by Headsnapper, no new weapons found their way to the mending pile and Hiccup dared to think he might catch up. He hoped that Astrid was having a good time – he hadn't seen her all morning, not since he sought refuge in the shop…

"Dragon Rider."

Hiccup yelped and dropped the broken sword in his hands, nearly chopping some toes off his good foot. He swiveled around to find the Seer standing at the rear exit, as cloaked and mysterious as usual. He hadn't heard anyone enter, though with the combative cacophony in the background that was hardly surprising. The fact that she had gotten past Toothless _was_ surprising, though.

"Okay, thanks for the heart attack," said Hiccup.

"Everything okay?" asked Gobber, who then saw the Seer in his store and added, "What's all this?"

"The Seer, apparently," Hiccup stated.

"We never did have that talk," stated the Seer, her idea of an explanation for showing up out of nowhere. "Perhaps we should while time remains plentiful."

"Uh… Can't really spare the time, not with all these weapons to…"

"You should go ahead, Hiccup," said Headsnapper. "When the Seer speaks to you, it's important to listen."

"Right," said Gobber, not sharing Headsnapper's certainty but willing to go along with it for the sake of diplomacy. "Take a breather. Just keep any dire prophecies to yourselves, will you?"

Rather than go outside and risk getting manhandled by careless contestants, Hiccup and the Seer found a small alcove in the back of the shop. He still felt uneasy about being alone with her, as she remained entirely creepy despite the things Astrid had told him about the cloaked woman. The fact that she could outfight Astrid and make it look easy didn't help.

"Are you a Viking, Dragon Rider?" the Seer asked.

"What kind a question is that?" said Hiccup, flabbergasted. "Or is this a height joke? I've heard them all, you know."

"I ask because you do not approach life as a Viking," she explained. "You can be born to certain people in a certain place, but that doesn't make you one of them."

Hiccup sighed as he understood what she was getting at. "Believe me, I've wrestled with that all my life."

"Yet your insecurity has not stopped you from taking action," the Seer stated. "You've risked much in your few years, Dragon Rider. Would you do it again if required?"

"And why would I do that again?" he asked, sensing the conversation was taking a dark turn.

The Seer turned her hooded head away from Hiccup and spoke in a quieter, more absent tone. "You have heard the legends about the Seer, yes? About her ability to divine the future or know secrets that none should know?"

"Yeah, I've heard the tales, but Astrid told me that your people are prone to exaggeration."

"Yes, but not about this," she said. "I see snippets of things yet to be, parts of a whole that we cannot perceive. My people say that Odin himself grants me these visions, but I have never felt any divine inspiration. The visions simply… come, and I see what they offer. They even come true sometimes, though other times they merely warn me of… possibilities. The women of my bloodline have had this gift for many centuries, and I am the last of the bloodline. I tell you this because I do understand what it is to not be a Viking, so that you might heed my message."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" replied Hiccup, the anxiety growing thicker in his heart.

The Seer ignored Hiccup's comment and said, "I must return to my duties now, so listen well. You are the Dragon Rider, a title that you will forever wear, just as I will forever wear the title of the Seer. Few people wear titles, but when they do they can never escape them. Titles bear responsibilities – they bear consequences. You can choose to meet them or flee from them, but they are a part of who you are. You will be forced to make many choices soon, Dragon Rider… difficult choices. And a great deal will ride on what you decide. I hope you choose wisely."

She didn't give him a chance to respond as she about-faced and escaped from Hiccup's presence as deftly as she had entered it, leaving him in a state that was two parts bewilderment, three parts angst, and one part self-pity, all blended together with a dash of resignation.

_Was I cursed as a child?_ he thought. _Did Dad get on the bad side of Loki at some point and call down a curse on his first-born? Never normal, never a moment's rest, either searching for the weirdness of life or stumbling over it. Did I blow my chance at normality, or did I ever have a chance at all?_

What was the Seer's deal, anyway? Show up, deliver a vague message about titles and choice, then leave. That's not helpful, and she should stop doing it. What was he supposed to do now, just stand around and wait for those difficult choices to arrive?

Yeah, that was what he was going to do. What else could he do, really?

* * *

><p>The rest of the day went by without any difficult choices, though Hiccup largely stayed in the safety of Gobber's shop to limit the choices to the metallurgical ones. The festivities died down toward sunset, with the Berkians and the Gunnarr exchanging their axes and knives for flagons and mugs inside the Great Hall.<p>

A battery of meaty aromas and a wall of clamoring chatter greeted Hiccup when he entered the Hall, the diminutive Viking having to bend and swerve around the overflowing patrons. Half the people were standing around and enjoying the liberal supply of drink and conversation, a good chunk of the Hall's space occupied by the arranged tables in the back, one set for each clan and configured so that both sides had to face one another. It was bad etiquette to give your back to your opposition. The space between the tables was a speaking area for those Vikings that wished to give public pronouncements.

Hiccup noticed a few civil discussions between Berkians and Gunnarr, but for the most part the two clans kept to their own company. Some dirty looks, some backhanded comments, even an occasional direct insult threatened the peace, but the earlier physical contests had worn down the audience to the point that cooler heads continued to prevail.

Astrid and the others waved a supportive hand at Hiccup from the Dragon Squad table, but Hiccup couldn't sit there tonight. He had a place next to his father and his commanders and he was obliged to use it. Putting on his best diplomat face, he plopped down next to his father and did his best not to look at Cragfist, who had opposite seating to him. Cragfist also avoided eye contact for some strange reason, considering that the uncivil Gunnarr never missed a chance to look down on Hiccup. Maybe he'd been ordered to be on his best behavior.

"Never liked summits myself," said Stoic, smiling at Hiccup as he sipped his ale. "Lots of yelling and posturing in public, lots of bartering and dealing in private. Everyone will get their chance tonight to speak their mind, but I'll be the one stuck in the war room for the next four days hammering out the actual treaty with Stonefist."

"What's your take on Stonefist?" asked Hiccup, risking the question in the open. It was hard to hear yourself think in the din of the Hall, much less overhear a conversation that wasn't inches away from you.

Stoic waggled his head uncertainly. "He's even unhappier with us than I imagined. He'll want a lot from us, probably more than we can give."

"Like what?"

"He'll want us to start acting like his brand of Viking again… you know, _real_ Vikings," said Stoic, his contempt for the idea evident in his voice. "He might go as far as to force us to join his clan."

Hiccup cringed at the thought. "Black and red aren't really my colors."

"Don't worry, Hiccup, it won't come to that. I've been watching their reactions to our dragons. They don't like them, but they also fear them. Their ships didn't come armed with bola launchers, either, so their axe rattlin' might just be a bluff. But I'm sure they will be even more rattled after your squad gets through with them."

Hiccup hoped so as well, though his stomach continued to tremble whenever he thought of putting his squad to a real test in front of hundreds of judgmental Vikings.

The Seer sat next to Headsnapper a few seats down from Cragfist, not touching her own drink and keeping so still she might have been asleep under that cloak of hers. Stonefist sat opposite of Stoic and talked to his son, their conversation undoubtedly mirroring Hiccup and his dad's conversation except with some degrading remarks towards Berk thrown in.

Sanctuary, Astrid's table, Gobber's shop, an iceberg – Hiccup could spend all night listing the places he'd rather be, and the evening hadn't even begun. The feasting would commence soon, followed by speeches from the heads of the clans and maybe a poem or two from some of Berk's warrior-poets. As much as Hiccup enjoyed a good poem, he had better things to do than listen to another rendition of Gobber's "The Tale of Two Toothaches." Sure as there were worms in the dirt, Gobber would work it in somehow.

Stonefist didn't wait for the grub to arrive, however. He rose from his seat and raised both hands for attention. The Gunnarr quieted all at once, prompting the Berkian Vikings to eventually follow their lead. Hiccup noticed his dad's perplexed look – this wasn't part of the agenda.

"I greet all Vikings, Gunnarr and Berkian, to our summit," said Stonefist, eliciting cheers from the crowd, some polite and some genuine. "For too long have we stood apart from our brothers and sisters across the frozen seas. For too long have you stood alone against incredible odds. Now that the Gods have seen fit to end your long struggle, we seek to rekindle old friendships and old vows. Let tonight mark a new beginning between our clans."

The crowd cheered more enthusiastically that time, but Hiccup caught a grunt of disapproval from his dad. Hiccup could tell that Stonefist was pulling a fast one, trying to seize the high ground in negotiations by appearing to desire peace. Hiccup didn't buy it any more than his dad.

"Before we begin, however, there is one matter that must be addressed," stated Stonefist. "The Seer desires to speak, and I ask that you listen to what she has to say."

Stonefist returned to his seat as the Seer rose from hers and glided to the open spot between the tables. The atmosphere around her took on an ominous feel as the crowd awaited her speech, Hiccup growing especially apprehensive as he recalled the Seer's message/warning to him.

"I have already told my people what I am telling you now, people of Berk," began the Seer, her head slightly bowed and motionless, her voice strong and clear. "I have seen a great danger approaching in the guise of a young man. He would seem not a threat by appearance, but he has conspired with alien and diabolical forces to perform acts of powerful deviltry. Disaster surrounds him, follows him, and he will bring disaster to all our people if he is not stopped. He may already be approaching your island; he may already be here.

"You will know this man by his power, for the deviltry that corrupts him protects him from harm. You will know this man as the Outlander. For the safety of your people and the friendship of the Gunnarr, should you encounter the Outlander you _must_ tell us of his location. I would advise you not to try to stop him yourselves – that is a task best suited to our warriors."

The Hall filled up with talkative grumbles as the echo of the Seer's voice faded. Most of the present company knew about the skele-dragons and other odd happenings of late. A few even remembered Hiccup's tale of his Mainland battle and wondered if the man in Hiccup's story was this Outlander. Some would eventually connect the incidents together while adding in the Seer's warning to create a narrative stew that suggested that the Outlander was behind the recent spate of deviltry.

Stoic merely frowned and kept his mouth sealed, assuming that this was one of Stonefist's attempts to keep the Berkians on edge just before the summit got serious. He wasn't about to accuse the Seer of fabricating stories though, not with his own bubbling insecurities about the amount of deviltry his son had been witnessing lately. By Odin's good eye, he would put down the Outlander with his own hands if the devil-spawn dared showed his face in Berk. But the timing of the warning remained rather suspicious.

His mind occupied, Stoic failed to notice how Hiccup had scrunched his face into his mug, desperately trying to drown his panic attack.

* * *

><p>Right off the bat, Arc knew something was off about the island before him.<p>

Had the sun been floating in the sky instead of half-tucked behind the oceanic horizon, the Isle of Frost might have burned out Arc's eyes with blinding glare. A solid covering of gloss on the open sea, it was the smallest of the islands in the area and was at best a fourth the size of Berk. But it maintained a constant level of snow and ice on its surface, defying the warmth of the summer season. It didn't float like an iceberg, but it was impossible to see any landmass poking out of the compacted snow. Its flat, featureless texture was broken up by sporadic hills and fissures in the bluish-white ice.

This was the place, though. Arc was dead certain of that. His flying companion, the little dragon skull that had acted as a bloodhound to its master's essence, had exhausted all other possibilities. Arc had learned the legend about the Isle of Frost from Latimar, how it was a land of perpetual cold that could freeze and encase your bones in ten feet of ice if you walked its surface for too long.

A foolish legend to be sure, but even Cervantes would find such a dead-land unpleasant, not unless there was a purpose behind it.

If this wasn't the place, if this was yet another fake-out on the part of Cervantes, Arc would have to give up the search. He had told Nestor he'd return by the end of the day, and he always came back when he said he would. Unreliability was not one of his faults.

_He's here_, thought Arc, the arctic landscape became more distinct as he closed the distance to the island. The dragon skull was zeroing in on something, its pace almost frantic. Perhaps it wished to see its master one last time before the end, or perhaps it had no intentions other than to be free of Arc's control. Even though he couldn't Shroud the skull and his presence was most likely already known, Arc kept his Shroud in place. It would help to distort and confuse Arc's presence until he was close enough to the necromancer to prevent any escape.

Arc dropped some altitude as he surveyed the island, checking for any signs of ambush. He figured Cervantes had another trap in store for him, another abomination hidden in the snow or under the sea. Cervantes couldn't have much left in his skele-army – all those monstrosities took time and care to put together. But Arc dared not underestimate the man.

The central part of the island had a dome-shaped quality to it, strangely free of any icy protrusions or gullies. It contrasted with the rugged randomness of the rest of the island, piquing Arc's interest. He'd give it a look after locating…

_BLAM!_

Curiosity gave way to pain and disorientation, Arc shielding his eyes from the black-fire explosion that had once been the dragon skull. Prior to its destruction, the little skull had twisted around to face Arc, flying backwards with its dark orbs suddenly glowing four, five, six times as intensely as normal. Then the darkness consumed the skull, incinerating it and sending a wave of dark heat into Arc's path.

His arms caught the worst of it, singeing his scales but doing little else. His vision blurred from the intense heat, but he retained his sight. Arc cursed his overconfidence. The dragon skull had contained a piece of Cervantes's essence, and thus it grew stronger as it got closer to its owner. Arc hadn't believed it could grow strong enough to break through his control and enact its self-destruction. One more surprise from the necromancer.

As his vision slowly cleared and the cries of frantic, determined voices reached his ears, as dark shapes emerged below him and whirling projectiles flew up at him, he quickly came to a different conclusion.

He never had real control of the skull. Cervantes had strung him along, right into another trap.

They emerged from hidden alcoves, their war machines cloaked in simple pearly sheets of cloth that blended with the ice. A dozen groups with a dozen machines, all dropping their covers and manning their weapons. He couldn't recognize them with his vision still blurry, but he assumed they were men of some mercenary nature, made promises of exorbitant wealth by Cervantes. It was not the first time Cervantes had employed such callous hearts. Those men not attached to a war machine team readied their bows and fired arrows. They missed, their feathered shafts disappearing into the white below, but only narrowly, far too narrowly for a having a Shrouded target to aim at.

Then he chanced a glance at his body and saw a smoky outline with a dark residue, almost entirely counteracting the Shroud and making him stand out like a black eye on a pretty face. The dragon skull had done its job all too well.

A whirling three-rock bola collided with his right rear leg, wrapping around it. More annoyance than hindrance, Arc ignored it and reciprocated with a lightning bolt. The war machine's central launcher cracked and fell apart, the three men manning it screaming and fleeing from the wreckage.

Two more bolas collided with him, tightening around his torso but failing to entangle any of his limbs. The added weight hurt his ability to maneuver, though, and he was forced to hover in mid-air as he fired off three more electrical blasts, reducing three more war machines into rubble but leaving the men alive and screaming. Shock and awe was his style – demoralizing your enemy worked better than killing them much of the time.

Then he felt pinpricks against his back, one of which found a gap in his scale protection and sunk in. He roared out his displeasure and firing off a weaker bolt at the half-dozen archers below him, the electrical current leaping from man to man, causing the men to jitter and dance involuntarily for a few seconds before they fell to the ground. Not a lethal dose of lightning, though - he still had control.

The next bola found his neck, constricting his throat and forcing him to rip it off before he lost consciousness. The distraction cost him dearly, as another volley of bolas found him and pinned part of his left wing to his body. With only one able wing, he plummeted towards the ground.

Half blind, barely able to move his tangled body, the skill of centuries of flight experience was all that prevented his fall from killing him. He glided his way into a controlled skid that dug a long furrow into the ice, Arc roaring as his body shook and shuddered from the landing. He felt the agonizing crack of solid rock to his head as he smashed through a war machine's ammo cart, his momentum finally arrested. As the world threatened to fade to black, Arc struggled to stay awake, to move, to do something other than just die. His vision clouded as the warriors surrounded him, fear preventing them from closing the distance and finishing him off. That would change the moment he went unconscious, though.

Then a ragged form walked into Arc's line of sight, shaking his head as if disappointed in Arc's performance and growing fuzzier by the second.

"I was hoping for more of an epic ending, Arc," said Cervantes. "If you hadn't given away your barrier-field, I think we would have gotten it. Still, I got the results I wanted, and… who knows? I still need you alive for now – we still might get the ending we so righteously deserve after three centuries."

Arc only heard the first half of Cervantes's gloating spiel before the fuzziness turned to blackness.

* * *

><p>There and back – no one would know he was gone.<p>

Participation in the summit's commencement feast had dropped off after several hours of roast mutton and grandstanding speeches boasting of Gunnarr greatness or Berkian steadfastness. Many Vikings had nodded off or slinked away during the speeches, but there were plenty of hearty souls left who were determined to leave no keg behind. As the chief's son, Hiccup had been a prisoner to the proceedings and was only now escaping the stuffy Hall once the speeches were over and the after-speech revelry had begun with his father challenging Stonefist to an arm wrestling match.

No moon out tonight, which was perfect. A thick veil of clouds hid most of the stars, which was even better. Who needed to Shroud when you could completely disappear into the darkness?

Hiccup quickly made his way back home and spotted the faint outline of Toothless anxiously pacing behind their house, awaiting Hiccup's return. The protective dragon had not liked being forced to stay home during the commencement. Toothless's protective attitude was good for reminding the Gunnarr of Berk's dragon power, but bad for civility during feasts.

Relieved by his departure from the Hall and distracted by other concerns, Hiccup absolutely failed to hear the footfalls rapidly closing in behind him. On the other hand, he was quite aware of getting jumped on, bowled over, and then forced to the ground, two arms locked around his own and two legs wrapped around his hips. With a modest yelp of alarm, he rolled on his back with his attacker underneath him, unable to do more than futilely writhe in her grip.

Yes, _her_ grip. He already knew who it was – the wrappings on his assaulter's arms were a big clue.

"You are _not_ going!" Astrid declared, tightening her arms to make the point.

"Do you read minds or something?" said Hiccup, not bothering to deny his plans.

"Hiccup, I heard the same thing you did." She looked around to make sure they were still alone and shifted her voice to a whisper. "You can't go warn Nestor."

"Astrid, the Seer just declared him Public Enemy Number One," Hiccup whispered back. "He needs to be warned."

"Nestor's probably gone already."

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't," she admitted, "but think about it. What if the Seer knows more than she's letting on? What if you running off to warn Nestor leads her to him? Then not only does the Gunnarr get their hands on him, but you'll get tarred with associating with him. That'll ruin relations between the Gunnarr and us… might even start the war we're trying to prevent."

Hiccup had to admit that her points were valid, infuriatingly valid in fact. "Okay, I get it, Astrid. I having trouble breathing here, so can we pretend we're reasonable people and discuss this without the chokehold?"

Her grip slackened off and Hiccup was free to return to his feet, Astrid doing so as well. Toothless now stood a few feet away, having run up to see what the trouble was. He gave the two of them a confused stare, unsure of exactly what was going on or how he might intervene.

"It's okay, pal," reassured Hiccup. "We're just discussing things." Then he gave Astrid an irritated glare. "Some reason why you couldn't just use words? Do you really not trust me that much?"

"Me not trust you?" shot back Astrid. "I've given you so much rope that you could throw yourself off Raven Point and still not hang yourself before you hit bottom. Meanwhile, you were about to take off and jeopardize everything we've worked for."

"He's my friend, Astrid," said Hiccup.

"Hiccup, you're clear of it. _We're_ clear of it. The whole village is clear of it. Why are you determined to get back into it?"

"Astrid, we're _not_ clear of it," declared Hiccup. "Your friend, the Seer, made sure of that."

"I don't know what that's about," Astrid weakly defended. "If you haven't noticed, she keeps a lot of things to herself."

"Do you agree with her?" asked Hiccup, hoping for an answer in the negative. "Do you think Nestor is a danger to us?"

"No, I don't," said Astrid, not even hesitating. "I trust him more than I trust her. I don't believe he's a danger to Berk… but…"

"He's a danger to me," finished Hiccup. "Astrid, we can't keep going round and round and round about this."

"Then let it be, Hiccup," she replied, her voice growing more intense. "By the Gods, why do you need to push your luck? Why can't you ever be happy with what you have?"

"Astrid, it's who I _am_," he said. "There's an amazing and terrifying world out there, but I'm not afraid of it. The more I learn about it, the more I realize how much more there is to learn. Every time I think I see the big picture, the picture suddenly gets bigger. Everyone tells me not to stick my nose in things, to not be curious, to keep my head down. But if I'd listened to that advice in the past, we'd still be killing dragons. I thought you knew that about me… I thought that's what you liked about me."

Astrid couldn't answer right away, choosing to look off toward the village center instead. Hiccup didn't intend to have it out like this, to be so blunt when Astrid had been so reluctant to share her feelings up until now, but the dragon in the room couldn't be ignored any longer. Could proud Astrid handle a real heart-to-heart? He was going to find out shortly, because they were overdue for one.

Toothless must have sensed that this was a personal, private discussion, for he gave Hiccup a supportive glance and sauntered back to his yard. Hiccup thanked his friend for that – he doubted Astrid would open up with witnesses present.

She kept staring off, avoiding his gaze as if she might burn under it. Hiccup knew patience and he had given her plenty, he was still willing to do so, but the longer she refused to answer the less eager he was to hear her answer. Maybe she really didn't…

"I'm scared, Hiccup," she finally said. "I'm scared… and it's all your fault."

"Naturally," he replied sourly, rolling his eyes even though she couldn't see him do it. "What I'd do this time?"

"You made me care."

His irritation fell away at once. Not the answer he was expecting.

"I didn't used to," she continued, still refusing to look at Hiccup as she talked. "Before you came along, all I wanted was glory and recognition. I'd do it all for Berk, of course, but that was just an excuse. I wanted my own statue in the Great Hall. I wanted to be the one with a hundred dead dragons to her name. That was all that mattered to me, and I was certain I'd do it. I didn't have to brag about it – I _knew_ I was supposed to be the next champion of Berk. It was going to kill me, that was a given, but I accepted that. I mean, why do you think I got so angry with you when you started doing better than me at dragon training? It was _my_ destiny you were intruding on.

"And then you showed me Toothless, and you showed me, as you put it, the bigger picture. You showed me that the enemy didn't have to be the enemy and that there were better ways to live… and you showed me _you_." She turned to him at last and there were such a conflict of emotion on her face that it almost overwhelmed Hiccup as well, her eyes struggling to remain strong while the faintest of tears began welling up underneath them.

"You get beaten down a hundred time in a row, yet you never stop trying," she said. "You finish one crazy project and then you ask what's next. You're the worst warrior I've ever seen, but you'll risk everything for a friend. Hiccup, I _like_ who you are. I care about you, more than I thought I could care about anyone, but you don't make it easy sometimes. So I'm scared, Hiccup… and I don't like being scared."

Hiccup came up to her and took her hands in his, wearing a warm, sincere smile. "You're not alone on this one, Astrid. I'm scared, too. I never thought someone like you could ever like someone like me, and I keep expecting you to wake up one day and realize the huge mistake you've made in being my friend. You're a warrior at heart, and I worry that someday you'll rush off into battle and never come back. I don't want to lose you either, Astrid."

"I just… I just want things to be safer," said Astrid, managing a little smile of her own. "I'm not ready for us to… move forward, not until our lives are calmer. That's why you can't go warn Nestor. That's why we need to focus on what we have in front of us, Hiccup."

That's what he wanted to hear – moving forward. Yay, yay, yay. He almost kissed her just then, he felt pretty sure she wouldn't have minded at all, but the level of her insecurity made him wait. Have it be something to anticipate after the Gunnarr had returned to their homes and Berk was safe once more. It would make all the secrets and anxiety and long days of training and near-fatal moments worth it.

"Well, it just so happens that I agree with you," said Hiccup. "When the Gunnarr are gone, we can… move forward."

Astrid nodded her approval, her smile widening as she caught his meaning. "It's only four days. We can handle four days."


	13. Stupid, Crazy Ideas

**Author's Nose.. uh, Note: **Well, my camping trip didn't interfere with my release schedule, but recovering from it slowed me down some. I'm still ahead of schedule, but just barely. Thankfully, no more camping to be done for the rest of the summer.

Onwards.

**Chapter Twelve: Stupid-Crazy Ideas**

The second day of the summit managed to be ten times better than the first day, mostly because Hiccup extricated himself from the majority of the proceedings.

The squad fled to the Wasteland once more for a pre-demonstration training session, their first since Stoic had forbidden dragon flights around the island. Understandably, the squad was rusty and had trouble coordinating and cooperating for the first hour or so. But they quickly got back in the groove, reducing the melted and charred remnants of their practice dummies into slag before the day was over.

Gobber had set up a new row of target dummies on another section of the island far closer to Berk – their demonstration area for tomorrow. The main goal was for the squad to do one pass together in formation, pick targets, blast those targets, and fly off without anyone doing anything moronic. Hiccup and Toothless would then do a second pass and take out any targets left standing, showing off that legendary Night Fury precision. It would be quick, dirty, and fiery, and if it didn't impress the pants of the Gunnarr then Hiccup would eat his saddle.

Hiccup even got in some tinkering time at Sanctuary, putting the grapple launcher back into an operational status and even adding a few improvements. He wisely resisted the urge to test it again, though.

He also resisted the urge to check on Nestor and see if he was gone from the island. Hiccup's dad had opened up the island to the Gunnarr and there were bands of Vikings hiking about the forests at their leisure. Some of them had to be searching for signs of the Outlander and Hiccup wasn't about to point the way for them.

He did have to attend the evening feast, but this time there were fewer speeches and more revelry. Hiccup did his best to buck up his dad at their dinner table, Stoic acting quieter and more sullen than usual. He related to Hiccup how the day's private negotiations had been long and heated. Stoic offered better trade goods and a mutual defense pact, but Stonefist demanded a serious reduction in Berk's dragon population. The Gunnarr chief refused to accept that dragons weren't conventional livestock and that you couldn't just slaughter them like sheep.

Hiccup got away earlier this time and went straight home, taking care of his household chores and keeping Toothless company until the long day finally caught up to him and he headed upstairs for some shuteye. He actually felt confident for a change, the day's practice removing some of the anxieties that persistently clung to his spirits.

They were going to pull this off. They had to.

It struck him odd that his room was gloomier than he remembered, since he was pretty sure he had left the shutters to his solitary window open this morning. But he had been pretty occupied with last minute planning and practice. He must have overlooked it. The candle in his hand dispelled most of the inhabiting shadows, showing that there was nothing hiding in the corners. He would have felt silly to be worried if the last two weeks hadn't happened.

He transferred the flame from the candle in hand to a candle stand next to his bed and sat down on his mattress. He was beginning the process of unbinding his metal foot from his leg when he felt something flick his real foot. He then looked down at his right boot, spotting the human hand that jutted out from under his bed, flicking his boot again as he watched. An ordinary human hand – nothing skeletal, scaly, or hairy about it.

Hiccup sighed. It said a lot about his life that this kind of thing wasn't fazing him anymore.

Hiccup took a candle and got down on his knees, peering under his bed. There was a cramped, forlorn-looking familiar face wedged in the crawlspace, his clothes covered in accumulated dust.

"Nestor?" said Hiccup.

Nestor waved hello, stirring up a whiff of dust doing so. "Told you it was only a matter of time."

"It's only been two days," said Hiccup, "And why…?"

"Best place to hide in your house that didn't involve running into your father."

"Okay, but how…?"

"Did a little scouting of my own while I was on the island. Figured out this was your house."

"Right, but then…"

"Arc hasn't shown up." He coughed out a puff of dust. "Can I come out now?"

"Yes, away from my bed."

Once Nestor cleared the bed and Hiccup double-checked to be sure they were still alone in the house, Hiccup sat back down again and took a few breaths to keep calm while Nestor brushed the dust off his clothes. He actively fought off nasty thoughts about Gunnarr Vikings suddenly bursting into the house and flaying the two of them alive.

"He didn't show up?" asked Hiccup. "Okay, he's just running late. That shouldn't cause a panic."

"You don't understand," said Nestor, who began to pace back and forth on the floorboards. "If you take a bet on the sun rising and Arc being back on the day he said he'd be back on, you bet on Arc. He is _never_ late. Not once in all the years I've known him."

Hiccup didn't mention his meeting with Arc, nor did he plan to. Nestor wouldn't take it well, knowing his dragon mentor chose to harangue Hiccup instead of checking in with him. But Nestor was right – Arc _should_ have been back by now after going off to confront Cervantes.

"What are you thinking?" Hiccup asked.

"Cervantes. I think Arc found him… and things didn't go well. Anything could have happened to him, I supposed, but Arc always told me to think worst-case scenario."

Hiccup sucked in his breath and said, "Do you think he's…"

The panic on Nestor's face made it clear that he _did_ think it, but he didn't say it. "I hope not. Cervantes might still need him for interrogation… _Salo krebit_…"

"Take it easy. Let's think about this."

"What's to think about, Hiccup? I'm stuck here and Arc needs help. I'm certain of it. Even if I can get a ride off the island, I have no idea where to go. Oh, why did Arc have to be such a…"

"We may have another problem," interrupted Hiccup. "Ever heard of the Seer?"

Nestor stopped pacing and shook his head. "Local legend?"

"Not a legend," corrected Hiccup, and he explained the Seer and her dire warning about the Outlander. After he was done, Nestor had to find a spot on Hiccup's bed himself, his face blanching in the thin candlelight.

"It makes no sense," he said shakily. "We've never crossed the Gunnarr. Why would they be after me? And what's the deal with 'Outlander'?"

"You're asking me? The Seer has this 'mysterious-ways' thing going on, and she likes to give people titles for some reason. I wanted to warn you but I figured you were gone already. Really, not trying to a bad host, but you can't be here. Give it three more days and then we'll…"

"We can't wait three days, Hiccup!" hissed Nestor. "Arc will be dead by then for sure, and if Cervantes really is behind his disappearance then he'll be coming after the artifacts. With Arc gone, there's no hole I can hide in that Cervantes won't be able to sniff out."

Hiccup wanted this discussion to go away, because it was sounding more and more like his life would explode in his face if Nestor didn't leave. But Nestor's panic over Arc persuaded him to listen. If it had been Toothless, after all…

"Can you destroy the artifacts?" he offered.

Nestor's face grew even whiter at Hiccup's suggestion. "Bad, bad idea. The tome, maybe, but the powercore? Remember what I told you about a volcano right in your lap?"

Hiccup's own face now blanched. "That much power… on our island?"

"No," admitted Nestor, "but a lot of power. Don't want to be standing next to it if it blows."

"And now I have one more nightmare," murmured Hiccup. "Okay, then we destroy the tome. That's harmless, right?"

"Probably, but I don't want to do that just yet. It's the only information we have on the Monolith. I still haven't translated it completely, so it might cough up a location or a weakness we can exploit. I'm even getting an idea on what the Monolith is."

"I take it's definitely not a giant fish filleter like I was hoping."

"We'd be so lucky. The Artisan siege engineer who wrote the diary was talking about how the Artisans were losing the civil war with the Ancestors. The Ancestors were as powerful as Hyperions, every one of them, and even the Guardians couldn't stand against them for long. So they came up with something better, a secret weapon. I tried reading ahead to get a better idea, but the language is difficult and I'm only getting bits and pieces."

"Which bits matter?"

"Most of them. The engineer and his buddies came north to build the weapon and hide it away until it was ready to deploy. They succeeded on both fronts. He mentions being afraid of what he was creating, but he feared losing to the Ancestors even more. I snuck a peak at the last written page and the guy was babbling on and on about turtles again when the writing just… stops. It just ends very abruptly, like he was interrupted."

"Interrupted? As in…?" Hiccup cut his finger across his throat to illustrate his thought.

"Possibly," said Nestor. "Then again, maybe he finally went crazy and decided to find the turtle of his dreams. More likely, the Ancestors found him and his pals and put an end to their project, though if they did then they didn't dismantle it for some reason. The other thing I've found is the activation phrase."

"A what?"

"Activation phrase. It's like a bunch of code words. You need it to make a powercore do its thing. The engineer wrote it down like a poem, hiding key words in its lines. Cervantes might need it, or it just might be a convenience. The powercore is what matters, Hiccup. Cervantes is a genius – he gets his bony hands on the powercore, he'll figure out how to use it, tome or no tome. All that's standing between Cervantes and the Monolith is Arc… if that. We don't have three days, Hiccup."

Hiccup groaned, not needing any of this right now, then said. "Toothless and I can take you to the Mainland, which should get you clear of the Gunnarr, and you can take everything with you. If we leave now, I might get there and back before dawn."

"That might slow down Cervantes, but it won't stop him, and it won't help Arc," said Nestor, the desperation thick in his voice. "I can't abandon him, Hiccup. He's a righteous pain in the rear, but he's the family I have."

"There's nothing else I can do," replied Hiccup, his composure breaking as the utter helplessness of the situation continued to sink in. "Not with the Gunnarr breathing down our necks. I'm all out of stupid-crazy ideas."

Nestor closed his eyes and sighed, demonstrating what Hiccup felt. Silence fell over them, neither one offering useless platitudes or futile ideas. This was one of the times that Hiccup really wished he could talk to his dad about…

Talk to his dad.

"You know," said Hiccup, "I may have one more stupid-crazy idea in me… and I'm pretty sure you're not going to look forward to it."

* * *

><p>Stoic had been on voyages through churning seas that could make the strongest of stomachs ill and through storms that howled with ripping winds capable of stripping the flesh from your bones. Yet those impossible Gods-fearing moments never made him feel as exhausted as a day of talk with Stonefist, arguing the same obvious debate over and over.<p>

Stonefist? Stonehead was a better name. Nothing could penetrate that man's thick skull.

He entered his home later than he expected, the fire pit dying down and the house preternaturally quiet, no snoring or rustling from upstairs. Usually that meant Hiccup had disappeared outside, but Stoic had checked on Toothless and found the dragon asleep in his shelter. Hiccup wouldn't have taken off without him at this late hour.

Stretching his aching body, Stoic was about to go straight to his bed when he heard the clanking gait of his son descending the stairs behind him, followed by the footsteps of another pair of boots. Hiccup had a guest – a late guest. He immediately thought of Astrid, a fine girl that he never would have pegged as interested in his son had he not seen her kiss him with his own eyes. As much as he approved of his son's choice in women, he did need to put a stop to late-night visits.

So when he turned around and saw not Astrid standing next to Hiccup, but a male stranger a few years older than Hiccup, his confusion was great indeed.

"Ah, Dad, we have something we need to discuss," said Hiccup sheepishly.

"Formal introduction. Nestor," said Nestor, offering his hand and getting a serious scowl in reply. His hand returned to his side unshaken.

Stoic closed his eyes and remembered Gobber's advice about counting to five before daring to speak. He only got to three, but he kept his eyes closed and his voice mellow to keep his anger in check while he spoke.

"Hiccup, I'm going to ask you a question," he said, "and the answer to the question better not be that the man next to you is the Outlander."

"Um… Then I'm not sure how to answer the question," Hiccup said hesitantly.

To Stoic's credit, he successfully made it through the next several hours of explanation and information without throttling or breaking anything, despite his overwhelming urge to do just that upon hearing his son had been lying to him, _again_, about some very important matters over the last two weeks… or that the story he'd just been told was so crazy-fantastic that he was surprised Hiccup hadn't thrown in a few trolls for good measure. Nestor had to show off a few of his tricks to finally convince him that neither his son, nor the world, had just gone mad.

Once the explanations were done, Hiccup and Nestor patiently sat facing Stoic, both highly concerned about what he was about to do. Stoic felt like he'd just butted his head on a boulder four or five times in a row, but he used his discomfort to keep his wits about him, to drive away his fears.

"Nestor, go wait out back," Stoic calmly ordered. "My son and I have a few things to discuss." Nestor immediately obeyed, leaving Hiccup and Stoic alone, Hiccup watching his father timidly as Stoic got up and stood behind his chair, leaning on it for support.

"Son, why do you do this?" he said. "Thor Almighty, why do you do this? You should have come to me the moment you saw that man on our island."

"I know, Dad," said Hiccup. "But I didn't know how you'd react."

"I'd react by protecting my people!" Stoic declared. "I'd have protected my son! He's responsible for those skeleton devils attacking you!"

"He saved my life, Dad," Hiccup replied. "He's not the enemy."

"He practices deviltry, Hiccup!"

"Stop calling it that! This is why I didn't come to you. Magic is just another tool, like a longboat or a hammer. It's what you use it for that matters."

"Hiccup, it's unnatural. Talking dragons, bones that walk, metal that moves…"

"Yes, Dad, it's scary. It scared me when I first encountered it. But that doesn't make Nestor or Arc bad by default. Have you learned nothing from last time?"

"Did _I_ learn nothing?" Stoic gripped the chair's back so hard the wood moaned under the pressure. "Our village is in danger. Our relations with the Gunnarr are in danger."

"Believe me, Dad, I've been trying as hard as I can to keep Berk out of this. I almost succeeded until the Seer went and made that proclamation."

"Perhaps the Seer is correct, Hiccup."

Hiccup's eyes turned fierce and angry. "Dad, listen to yourself. You're willing to listen to the Seer, but not Nestor… or me? How is what she does not deviltry?"

"Her visions come from the Gods."

"Not according to her. She told me herself that she doesn't know where they come from, and you'd think she'd be the one to know. So, again, how is she different?"

"She's… she's a…" Stoic stammered as he realized that his son might have a valid point.

"She's a Viking, right? Because the Gunnarr are cool with it, right? Which makes it okay in your book."

Stoic could see the hypocrisy, though he was loathed to admit it. He spared the chair further pain by letting go of it and pacing, his temper fading as he walked. "Even if I was willing to trust someone like Nestor, and that's a big _if_, it doesn't excuse the fact that you lied to me all this time."

"No, it doesn't," admitted Hiccup sadly, his brief flirtation with anger ended. "I thought I was doing the right thing and protecting everyone from this mess. But it's like I'm caught in a whirlpool and it all just keeps coming back at me over and over."

Stoic ceased his pacing and took back his seat. Seeing the helpless look on his son's face reminded him of the vow he took after his son's battle with Red Death. _Don't let pride blind you again, Stoic_, he had told himself. _It almost cost you your son once. It almost cost you everything._

He took a deep breath, sighed out the last of his anger, and said, "I hate to say it, but it's not like I haven't given you reason to doubt me. I didn't handle things very well last time, to put it mildly. I guess I wanted to believe that you and I were… better."

"Dad, we are," replied Hiccup reassuringly. "A thousand times better. That's why I'm coming to you now, so we can fix this together. That's why I'm asking for your help."

Stoic snorted. "My help? You've handled this insanity better than I could have."

"But you know the Gunnarr better than I do. We just need some way to get them off Nestor's back, so we can get some scouts out looking for Arc and Cervantes."

Stoic shook his head in denial. "There's nothing I can offer that would make them ignore the words of their Seer. I doubt I can even convince our own people."

"There has to be something you can do, Dad," said Hiccup.

"Hiccup, I can't wave my hands and make everything fall into place. If your friend was a Viking, we might have had recourse under our current laws to…"

Stoic suddenly got that look he made when an idea materialized in his hardened skull. Leaving Hiccup behind to wallow in his confusion, Stoic went over to a shoddy desk in the far corner of the room, a desk overflowing with parchments and curled-up scrolls that he tried his best to ignore most days, and started shifting through the accumulated pile. It took several minutes of searching, Hiccup watching and keeping his mouth shut the entire time, but Stoic eventually returned to his chair with a torn and tattered scroll in his hands.

"I've had to brush up on our treaty laws for the summit," explained Stoic, handing his son the scroll. "Stonefist likes to do things by the book, and that might help us here. There's one very archaic treaty law that no one's bothered to use in the last century, but it's still part of the old treaty. That said, I don't think you're going to like it."

The aged parchment was so frail that breathing hard on it would destroy it, but the runes inked upon it were legible. Hiccup read the law carefully, checking the wording again to make sure he was reading it correctly. No, he didn't like it at all, but at least it was something.

* * *

><p>The sun was taking its sweet time rising into the early aqua-blue sky this morning, or so if felt to Hiccup. He knew his escalating anxiety made the sun seem like it was trying to hide, but he could've really used some warming sunshine right about now.<p>

At this hour, only a few villagers meandered about the grassy paths or lingered at doorways. It allowed Hiccup and Nestor to walk right up to the doors to the Great Hall without any questions about whom Hiccup's new friend was, though Hiccup was pretty sure that someone had watched them pass by. It was hard to hide anything new in a small village.

Under the still-glowing torches that marked the entrance to the Hall, Hiccup and Nestor halted and stared at the mammoth wooden things, both of them hoping to feel a boost of confidence before they entered and knowing it wouldn't happen. Hiccup had expected to spend most of today fretting about the dragon squad event occurring later in the afternoon, not considering the likelihood of his friend getting butchered in front of his eyes.

He almost brought Toothless along for support, but the dragon's presence would only exacerbate things with the Gunnarr. This was his and Nestor's time to sink or swim – they'd get no help from anyone else, not even his dad.

That was the worst part of it – for this to not wreck the summit, his dad couldn't get involved in any way. It had to look like this was Hiccup's handiwork. Hiccup's reputation for bucking the status quo would certainly help here – whether or not it would be enough to keep Nestor alive remained to be seen.

"Morning people, the Gunnarr," commented Nestor. "You sure they're all in there?"

"They like to eat together," said Hiccup. "A few of my people will be in there, but don't expect any help from them."

"Wouldn't matter. Barrier-field or not, a hundred Vikings is too many to fight all at once."

"Not too late to change your mind," suggested Hiccup. "You can still hide out for the next three days."

Nestor shook his head, a response Hiccup expected. "Arc needs me right now, not three days from now. You don't have to come inside with me, though."

It was Hiccup's turn to shake his head. "Then I wouldn't be much of a friend, would I?"

Nestor managed a smile and so did Hiccup. It was weird how friendships could form under the most bizarre of situations, and Hiccup truly hoped that today wouldn't be the end of his friendship with Nestor.

Then they went inside, and immediately all Hiccup could think about was how truly stupid-crazy this plan of theirs was.

* * *

><p>"So I'm thinking of letting Fenrir rip up one of the dummies," said Snotlout, keeping his voice low so that the Gunnarr seated on the other end of the Hall couldn't hear his idea. "That should really freak them out."<p>

"We're not changing the plans, Snotlout," declared Astrid in a distracted manner, sitting opposite to Snotlout at their prearranged table with the other Dragon Squad riders. She faced the doors so she could watch for Hiccup, hoping he wouldn't be late for their final briefing.

"What's wrong with a little improvisation?" replied Snotlout. "You had to admit that Fenrir really put the hurt on that dummy."

"You also nearly got cooked," commented Ruffnut, sitting next to Astrid.

"Details," said Snotlout.

"You guys will let me go first, right?" asked Fishlegs, parked next to Snotlout. "I don't want Chomps to get shown up too badly by everyone else. It's not good for his ego."

"As long as he nails his share of the kills, he'll look like death from above," said Tuffnut, adjacent to his sister.

As Fishlegs's bulk blocked the view for the twins, it was Astrid who first spotted Hiccup furtively enter the Hall. Some of her anxiety melted away upon seeing Hiccup, as she had had this crazy notion that something would crop up and ruin their well-prepared plans at the last minute. She half-expected Hiccup to fly off to warn Nestor, or somehow fall into a pit of skele-monsters or…

Then Nestor followed Hiccup into the Hall, and her anxiety tripled in an instant.

The two of them began walking down the center of the Hall, straight to the table that housed Stonefist, Cragfist, and the Seer, all blissfully eating their mutton. Other eyes had noticed them as well, some turning around in their seats to watch the son of Stoic escort the complete stranger in their midst. The murmuring in the Hall increased to a dull roar.

Astrid hadn't realized she had lost control of her lower jaw until Snotlout said, "Wow, what's with the face, Astrid? That's not a good face you're making."

Astrid briefly locked eyes with Hiccup when he looked their way, putting a finger to his mouth and pleading with his eyes. She was already speechless, so keeping silent wasn't a problem, but she mouthed the word _No!_ at him, trying to deflect him from his current course, her heart hammering as she awaited the dreadful response they were about to witness. No effect, of course, but her reaction prompted the other young Vikings to look Hiccup's direction.

"Who's that?" said Fishlegs. "Doesn't look like one of the Gunnarr."

"I don't think he's a Viking," said Tuffnut. "He's got that Mainland look to him."

Ruffnut's eyes widened as she spoke up. "Does anyone else think he might be… you know?"

Snotlout shook his head in amazement. "If it is, then this is going to be one exciting breakfast."

* * *

><p>"May we have a word?"<p>

Nestor said it point-blank to the Seer, right as Stonefist and his table guests looked up to see the two young men standing a foot away.

The Seer glanced up from her plate of bland grub, her eyes hidden underneath her hood but unmistakably fixed on Nestor. She froze for a second, and then stood up so fast that she knocked her seat over in the process. Like a school of sharks descending on an injured dolphin, the Gunnarr rapidly and fearsomely rose en masse, grabbing their weapons off the floor in one noisy and alarming display of disciplined action.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy, easy!" said Hiccup as he and Nestor held up their hands in an effort to calm the surrounding crowd. A chorus of clanging axes and threatening grunts added to the difficulty of speaking.

"We're here to talk things out. You know, like people who aren't at war with each other do," said Hiccup. "As our guests, you owe us that much." Invoking hospitality seemed to calm the Vikings down enough to keep them from attacking, which allowed Hiccup to keep talking. "Nestor here was taking shelter on the far side of the island for the last few days and he just happens to match the mysterious-stranger part of the Seer's warning. So we'll just clear the matter up and show that he's not a threat to anyone."

His words did much to halt the Gunnarr in their tracks, though they were more than ready to charge, Cragfist sneering at Hiccup with murderous intent and looking for an excuse to swing his spiked warhammer into someone's skull.

"What matters right now is whether or not this man before us is the Outlander," said Stonefist, holding his war mace menacingly. "Seer, what say you?"

"I'm right here, you know," said Nestor. "Why don't you ask me? My name is Nestor and…"

"What you say is irrelevant," interrupted Stonefist. "Seer?"

The Seer hadn't moved to brandish a weapon, not unless she was hiding one underneath her cloak. She took her time stepping around Nestor, making him feel like he was being inspected for hoof-and-mouth disease or leprosy. She gave his face the most scrutiny, as if looking for a singular facial clue that would condemn him. Then she stepped back and said, "I cannot tell."

"What?" said Cragfist, his frustration mimicked by many others. "You're the one with the visions."

"My visions did not give me a face," she stated. "This man could be many things."

"Exactly," said Hiccup, hoping he'd just found a simple way out of this situation. "And if the Seer can't be sure, maybe he's not the one in your visions. So I'm suggesting that you let us…"

Hiccup didn't finish his sentence before Cragfist whipped out a throwing knife from his belt sheath and aimed it straight at Nestor's neck. A few onlookers cried out in alarm, but none intervened before the knife flew from his fingers. Nestor reacted too slow, his attempt to dodge causing the knife to bounce off his left shoulder and clang to the stone floor, his brilliant magic barrier lighting up the Hall for everyone to see.

Cragfist smiled triumphantly. "I think that settles the matter."

The whispered awe and anger coming from the crowd grew deafening, cries of _deviltry_ and _Outlander _piercing the din with increasing frequency. A wall of bodies now encircled Hiccup and Nestor, cutting off any escape. Nestor grimaced at Hiccup and said, "What'd I tell you? One in every village."

"It is just as well that you brought the Outlander before us, son of Stoic," said Stonefist, advancing toward Nestor with his son at his side. "The Seer has guided us once again. This man is no man, but a corruption of the natural order. We will spare you and your village from his harmful influence and take him from here."

"I have not yet said that he is the Outlander," said the Seer.

Stonefist gave her a questioning look. "How much more evidence do you need, Seer? He glows with deviltry. It protects him."

"That may be," she replied, "but it takes more than magic tricks to wear a title."

As Stonefist and the Seer bickered over Nestor, Hiccup leaned over to his friend and muttered, "If you're going to do it, do it now."

Nestor nodded grimly, seeing little recourse but to proceed with the plan. He squared his shoulders, attempted to be as imposing as his thin frame allowed, and loudly proclaimed to the Hall, "By the treaty of Halbart and Nine-Fingers, as witnessed by those present, I invoke the Trial of Tyr, that my accuser and I do submit to the providence of the God of Justice."

Few things can make a hall full of agitated Vikings clam up all at once. Nestor's proclamation did just that. As silence washed over the crowd, Nestor leaned over to Hiccup and muttered, "That didn't sound too rehearsed, did it?"

"Ah… no, no, it came off very naturally," Hiccup replied.

"How do you know this law?" said Stonefist, a question he could already guess the answer to as he shot Hiccup the evil eye.

"Why does it matter?" said Cragfist. "He is no Viking. The law does not apply to him."

"Ah, but you have to read the fine print," said Hiccup. "The law states that anyone living on the lands of Berk or the Gunnarr may ask for the Trial. That covers Nestor."

"This is ridiculous," complained Cragfist, but his father held up a hand to prevent future outbursts. Stonefist's glowering expression chilled Hiccup's blood. It was possible that Stonefist wouldn't honor the law, might just ignore it and take Nestor anyway. No one would try to stop him if he did. To the crowd, Nestor was nothing more than a deviltry-wielding stranger.

"The Gunnarr honor all laws," said Stonefist, eliciting another wave of murmurs before his hand came up again to silence the crowd. "On this day, we will begin the Trial of Tyr. Brave Gunnarr, which of you will stand for our people?"

"Me!" yelled Cragfist, thumping his chest as he took a step forward. "I will…"

"You are inadequate," the Seer calmly stated, stepping past Cragfist and facing the crowd. "Outlander or not, this is no mere man we face. I will stand for our people." Cragfist opened his mouth to argue, but one stolid glance from the Seer made him change his mind and step back to his father's side.

The Seer's declaration shocked many in the room, especially Hiccup and Nestor. They had expected Nestor to face off with a husky Gunnarr warrior, not the Seer. Not Astrid's supposed friend, not the same Seer that had warned Hiccup about "difficult choices."

Stonefist didn't appear happy with the Seer's choice, but neither did he oppose it. "Very well," he said coldly. "Who will be her Second?"

"Me!" declared Cragfist once again. "I will…"

"Wait a tick," said Nestor, caught by surprise. "Second?"

"Yes, Second," affirmed Stonefist. "Another must join each side during the Trial to show that their village stands behind them. Were you not aware of this?"

Nestor and Hiccup exchanged helpless looks. "I think that part got rubbed off our copy of the treaty," said Hiccup.

Stonefist grinned, sensing that he had the means to end this inconvenient Trial of Tyr business right now. "Regardless of your ignorance, we cannot conduct a Trial without a Second for the accused. Will any Berkian stand for this man?"

Predictably, no Berkian came forward, choosing to shake their heads derisively at the notion of defending Nestor. Hiccup looked around for a friendly face and found none. He looked for Astrid and his friends, but the solid wall of Gunnarr muscle blocked them from his sight. Not that he wanted any of them involved, but some support wouldn't have hurt right about now.

Nestor shook his head emphatically at Hiccup, telling him not to do it. Had Hiccup's dad been around, he'd be bashing his way through the crowd and dragging Hiccup away before he could speak. This was the mother of all bad decisions, and once he made it no one, not even Toothless, would be able to help him, not without breaking the treaty and shoving Berk into a war.

Risking everything for a friend – well, why stop now?

"I'll be his Second," Hiccup declared.

* * *

><p>Accommodating a hundred extra warm bodies is never an easy task. Berk had very few homes not occupied by families, so most of the Gunnarr camped outside or found room in the Great Hall to sleep. One gloomy, drafty, unfurnished hovel on the outskirts of the village had been set-aside for Stonefist and his family and advisors. Stoic had offered something more hospitable, but Stonefist nixed the idea. He did accept a pile of fur blankets as gifts. Normally even that was too much for Stonefist - too much coddling made for softer bodies - but he accepted the furs without complaint.<p>

With his son and the Seer joining him for a quick conference inside, the Gunnarr chief hardly cared about the Spartan nature of the guesthouse.

Spartan - he loved the term. He had little respect for Mainlanders and their history, but the Spartans were a different story. Brutal soldiers without peer, the historians talked as if they were the greatest warriors of all time. It was a shame that he would never meet one, a bigger shame that he would never fight one and see how a Gunnarr measured up in comparison.

"We'll commence the Trial shortly after noonday," said Cragfist, having arrived a few minutes prior to report on the Berkians' preparations. "They're readying a section of the island for the Trial. Some locale called the Wasteland." Cragfist sniggered. "I doubt the cowards would know a true wasteland even if they were crawling on their hands and knees through it."

"The location is irrelevant," said Stonefist. "What matters is that you leave Stoic's boy alive, my son."

"What?" said Cragfist. "I'm well within my right to…"

Stonefist grabbed Cragfist's scrawny beard and yanked him closer, forcing his son to lock eyes with him. "You heard the screaming back at the village, did you not? That was Stoic learning of his son's decision. Treaty or no treaty, Stoic will not forgive us if any harm comes to his son, and he is known for rash action when enraged. The Outlander, on the other hand, is fair game."

"He is mine," said the Seer.

Stonefist released Cragfist and whirled on the Seer, her hood thrown back as she met him with her own stony gaze. "Are you addled, Seer? First you contradict me in front of everyone and then you turn around and agree to fight this stranger in the Trial. Is he or is he not the Outlander?"

"I do not know for sure," she said. "But it does not matter. His deviltry is apparent, and he has put the honor of our tribe on the line. I will end him."

"_I_ will end him," said Cragfist. "It is my honor to do so, not yours."

"This is not a time for your pride to overtake your intellect," said the Seer, "though I grant you that it takes little to do so."

"Oh, that tongue of yours," growled Cragfist. "If you weren't the Seer…"

"Then you'd be dead at her hands long ago," said Stonefist. "She bests you every time you spar, my son. She bests all of us. If she says she can defeat the stranger, then…"

A rhythmic tapping sound began to echo around the room, interrupting the conversation. All three of them looked to the source – a loose stone in the middle of the floor rattling up and down in a predictable pattern of three taps followed by two more. It did this several times, the tapping growing stronger as it repeated.

"Leave me," ordered Stonefist. "This is for my eyes only." Cragfist and the Seer complied, though the Seer lingered long enough to give him a reproachful glare before leaving.

Alone, Stonefist went to the moving stone and rapped on the top of the stone with the heel of his boot. Three raps, followed by two more. The stone then levitated out of its hole, sliding out and falling onto the floor as the thing that abided underneath it floated free before Stonefist.

It was an average-sized human skull without its lower jaw, perfectly white and clean despite living in the soil with the worms and beetles. Its sockets contained living shadows within, reminding Stonefist of every nightmare he'd ever had… and the ones yet to come.

The darkness spilled out of the sockets and the ghostly image of a man dressed in rags and bones formed before him. The man gave the chief a perfunctory greeting and said, "I trust the summit goes well, Chief Stonefist."

"We've hit a complication," said Stonefist. "The one you call Nestor has been found, but he learned of the Trial of Tyr and I cannot remove him from the island. The Seer will kill him, though."

"I am pleased that your Seer has gotten on board with our plans," stated Cervantes. "Her earlier reluctance concerned me, as did this Outlander nonsense she deems important. But whether Archibald's lackey lives or dies matters little. I only need Nestor out of the way. If this Trial accomplishes that, so be it."

"If this trial goes badly, our treaty with Berk might fall apart."

"Why do you care, Stonefist? Do you fear their dragons that much? Are you beginning to have second thoughts?"

It unnerved him deeply, dealing with this death-mage. It unnerved his people, almost to the brink of insurrection. Only the fear of having dragon talons and teeth descend on them from on high outweighed their fear of Cervantes. Deviltry against dragons – it was a poor choice to have to make, but Stonefist bore it for his clan.

"No, but you have yet to live up to your end of our bargain, necromancer," said Stonefist. "Stoic's dragons remain a threat to me, and I will not jeopardize the future of my people until you come through on your promises."

Cervantes paused to consider his answer, then said, "I can speed things up on my side, but you must do me an additional favor. Take my servant out to the forest and order two of your most trusted warriors to stand with it until it begins to move on its own. They will follow it, and they will obey any orders it gives."

"To what end?"

"Your Seer works in mysterious ways. So do I. I only ask that whatever your men bring you must then be brought to me immediately. Conclude things as you may with Stoic, but always keep in mind where your priorities lie. Very shortly, you will never need to honor another treaty again."

* * *

><p>Toothless's mighty paws tossed clod after clod of packed dirt into the air, showering the pond with flying earth and rippling the water. Hiccup wisely kept away from the dragon as he dug under Nestor's chosen boulder, the one with the myssteel axe buried underneath. Nestor was stuck in Gunnarr custody, awaiting the Trial, but Hiccup had mobility and he was using it while he still had it. Toothless didn't have an exact location – Nestor hadn't been that specific with his directions – but he tore into the ground around the mossy-green boulder with plenty of gusto. He'd find the axe even if he had to dig up all of Sanctuary to do it.<p>

A couple of dirty minutes later, Hiccup noticed that one of the oversized clods behind Toothless had an axe-like shape. He told Toothless to hold on further digging as he walked over to inspect it. Brushing off the caked-on dirt, he found a dirty blanket wrapped around the axe he'd made for Astrid.

Toothless sauntered over to Hiccup as he inspected the axe for dings or blemishes on the axe head. Still perfect. Even the dirt couldn't find purchase, sliding right off it as if repealed by the metal's very touch. A fine weapon, even if it lacked panache or style… or if you ignored the fact that it could slice through rock like it was liquid.

"Thanks, bud," said Hiccup to Toothless, placing the axe at his feet and scratching behind his companion's ears. He hated how out of control his life had become again, but he could always take comfort in Toothless's unwavering loyalty. Sadly, it was that very loyalty that he had to confront now, and it pained him to do it.

"Here's the thing, Toothless," he began, putting his arms around Toothless's neck and hugging the dragon to him. "I wasn't smart last time. I didn't think you could run to my rescue. I know better now. I even thought about tricking you into a harness or a cage, but I'm not going to. We've been through too much together for me to pull anything like that on you. Do you understand?"

Hiccup could feel the dragon tense up against him, his eyes staring fearfully, his ears at half-mast. Hiccup closed his eyes in the hopes of keeping his spirit from faltering through the rest of his speech.

"No matter what you hear, not matter how bad it sounds, you can't come save me," he whispered. "Got it? If you show up and ruin the Trial, it could start a war. This is bigger than you and me, buddy. So I need you to understand, Toothless. I need you to stay here until I come back… or until someone else does. Please tell me you understand, that you'll do what I ask."

He tightened his grip on Toothless and watched the dragon for a sign of acquiescence, but all he was getting was a fearful, sad expression. He was asking too much, asking Toothless to let his friend get hurt… or worse. It might be easier to ask him to sever a wing than to ask him to do nothing.

But the dragon relented at last, closing his eyes and nodding his head ever so slightly. It almost broke his heart, making Hiccup hug Toothless even tighter. He wanted to promise his friend that it was going to go okay but his mouth refused to open and utter a lie on his behalf.

"Nestor's on my side, pal," he whispered. "We'll survive this." He repeated the phrase several times, trying to convince himself as much as his dragon.

* * *

><p>He should've gone straight back to the village center, but instead Hiccup detoured to his home and spent several minutes waiting for his intestines to stop quivering, along with the rest of him.<p>

In the enclosed and noxious space of the outhouse, Hiccup collected his wits. It hadn't been this bad in the past, when he was about to stare down a massive, toothy dragon with pyromaniacal issues in front of hundreds of his clansmen. This time, no amount of kind words and sympathy would save him from his opponent's wrath.

The Trial of Tyr was a really a trial of combat. The accused or the accuser had to successfully bring a carved idol of the god Tyr to the anointed finishing line, thus showing the favor of Tyr. Alternatively, one fell dead at the hands of the other, which basically meant the same thing. The good news for Hiccup was that the Seconds didn't share the same do-or-die conditions, but Seconds did have the habit of dying anyway. The whole business was idiotic, a law rightfully abandoned to the bitter past. But now it was the only thing keeping Nestor out of the hands of the Gunnarr.

He exited the outhouse feeling stable but still plenty unhappy, throwing the creaking door wide to air the place out… and almost running smack into Astrid. He didn't recoil in surprise, his nerves already long exhausted, but the very concerned expression she wore and the way she tightly gripped her axe almost started his intestines a-quivering again.

"Can everyone just stop surprising me for one day?" commented Hiccup. "How do you find me all the time?"

"You're predictable in your own way," she replied. "Hiccup…"

"Don't, please," he interrupted, trying to stop yet another concerned-caring-friend speech. "I'm in over my head, Astrid, and that's all there is to it. You were right, and so here I am with half the village thinking I'm a deviltry lover and the other half thinking I'm about to die. But I don't regret it, because this isn't about Nestor... Well, okay, a big chunk of it is, but it's also about doing what's right."

"I know."

Dumbfounded by her reply, Hiccup stammered, "I… I expected an argument."

Astrid shook her head somberly. "No, it _is_ about what's right, Hiccup. It shouldn't be you doing it, but you wouldn't be you if you weren't in the middle of it. So I came to wish you… good luck."

Hiccup tried to smile to reassure her and only got half his face to cooperate. "Ah, who needs luck? I'll just be a decoy while Nestor beats the snot out of the Seer and that thug-of-a-Viking."

She frowned at his semi-serious bravado. "You haven't seen the Seer fight, Hiccup. I don't think either of you know what you're getting into."

"No, but I _have_ seen Nestor fight. I'll take my chances with him."

Without further comment, she then held out her prized double-bladed axe and offered it to him. "It's a very reliable axe."

"Thanks, but you know I can't swing it," he replied, taking her uncharacteristically unconditional support and running with it. "But that does remind me…"

He walked around the outhouse and grabbed the wrapped axe he had leaned against the wall. Then it was his turn to do the offering to Astrid. "I wanted to present it in a more colorful package, but I don't have the time."

Curious, Astrid put down her axe and took the offered one, quickly unwrapping the dirt-stained blanket and studying the new axe in her hands as if she was unclear of the big deal. The look on her face turned priceless as she recognized the type of metal that composed the axe blade.

"Is this…?" she dared ask.

"It sure is," Hiccup replied.

She twirled it in the air and made a few insanely quick practice swings safely away from Hiccup. An instant natural fit – Hiccup's tired smile widened at her joy.

"It's incredible, Hiccup," she beamed.

"And it's yours," he added. "It was always supposed to be yours. You've trusted me over and over when you had every reason not to. So I trust you with this. Just… be careful. That thing can…"

Her arms were around him before he even knew it, having tossed aside the myssteel axe and her body now squeezing his almost painfully but very affectionately. He gladly took the pressure and squeezed back, allowing for one pure moment of happiness before the Trial horn blew and everything got dangerous.

"I'm reeling you in, Hiccup," she softly said into his ear.

"Not sure what you mean, but okay," he replied, wishing he could stay right here but knowing that he needed to detach himself from Astrid shortly.

She pushed him out to arm's length, her hands on his shoulders, a warm smile on her face. "You'll understand soon enough," she said. Feeling his own affection for her grow almost overwhelming, he waited eagerly as her mouth approached his, Hiccup offering no resistance as…

…As she shoved him hard backwards, Hiccup's arms flailing as he fell upon the outhouse toilet, the structure rocking from the impact.

In one deft series of calculated moves, Astrid grabbed her old axe, slammed shut the outhouse door, and braced her weapon up against it. She then retrieved her new axe and slung it over her shoulder, giving the outhouse a final glance as Hiccup stirred and demanded vehemently for Astrid to let him out. She could see the top of his head through the little ventilation slit in the door. He was quite okay, though also quite upset.

"Astrid!" he yelled.

"Sorry, Hiccup," she replied as she began running for her home and Beatrix, "but like I said, you shouldn't be the one doing it."


	14. The Only Way It Can End

**Fun Author's Note:** Interesting. At this point, this story has gained more pageviews, visitors, reviews, and alerts than all of my twenty-seven previous fanfics... combined... over ten years...

Onwards.

**Chapter Thirteen: The Only Way It Can End**

If Arc had the manual dexterity required to pick up a pencil, he could have written volumes of lore on the discomfort of cold scales. One of his true pet peeves, they stiffened and dug into his skin like splinters. Cold scales surrounded him now, encasing him in a second prison made from his own body.

Of course, a change of venue and some vigorous motion would fix that very quickly. The actual bone cage around him was the real problem. Another one of Cervantes's creations, a network of bones connected to sharpened stakes protruding from the ice, holding him. It hugged him like a harness and trapped him in a prone position, his wings constricted to his back, his arms and legs splayed out and tethered to the ice, his neck and tail likewise inhibited from flexing. He could see ahead of him, but they had deliberately stuck him in front of a barren wall of snow so that all he could see was bland, neverending whiteness.

Smart. Unlike other dragons he had no breath weapon, but his lightning discharge couldn't be caged. They simply made sure he had nothing to target. Voices of boisterous mercenaries surrounded him – they guarded him, but not very closely. Cervantes had taught his hired goons well.

A day and a half had passed since his capture, and the necromancer had not visited him once. A few slimy fish had been thrown his way, barely palatable though better than starving, but his captors had gone to great lengths to keep their distance. His scales slowly freezing, his muscles cramping, and his bladder growing heavier, Arc remained unsure of what game Cervantes was playing. Keeping him alive to gloat? An old-school villainous act that usually backfired. Cervantes wasn't stupid. Arc lived because Cervantes needed him to get at the powercore. So why the waiting game?

The answer came while Arc worked on getting his right claw-hand free, digging around the bone stakes by feel, slowly so not to alert the guards. He stopped whenever anyone got close, and right now the sounds of crunching ice signaled someone's approach.

"Apologies for not visiting you sooner," spoke out Cervantes from off to Arc's right, the death mage keeping well out of sight. "I had a few details to attend to. I must say that you're taking captivity very well. I expected you to be gnashing your teeth or filling the air with random lightning bolts while I was off making preparations."

"I'm not into displays of futility," Arc replied.

"Are you not? Isn't the Hyperion way nothing but futility?" Cervantes chuckled at his own observation. "Keeping alive the memory of a dead race in the hopes of rebuilding their fallen empire?"

"It's about hope, Cervantes," Arc said. "It's about giving our races a second chance at greatness."

Cervantes chuckled again, this time at Arc. "Seconds chances? _Our_ races? Take a good look at us. When humanity isn't too busy killing itself off, it's doing it to the other creatures of the world. And the dragons of today? Pale imitations of the Ancestors. No, both races had their chance, and they blew it. The Void will claim them first before they achieve anything on the level of the Artisan Empire again."

"If you're so certain of our collective demise, why not join the Void and be done with it all?"

"I do not wish to." Cervantes hesitated before adding, "I am… accustomed to this life."

"Meaning that you're not as fond of the Void as you claim." Arc did the chuckling this time "What a waste of essence you are, Cervantes. You hate life, but you fear death."

"It is a paradox, I confess," replied Cervantes, "But I am too attached to this world. That's why I wish to save it."

"Let me guess: save it from all the poor ignorant humans and dragons."

"If only it was that easy." The necromancer's voice grew closer, moving to just behind Arc's head. As numb as his scales felt, he barely sensed the mage's hands on his neck, rubbing up and down in a circular motion. Despite the creepiness factor, Arc knew there was a rhythm behind Cervantes's movements. The mage was laying down a magical pattern on his neck, preparing for an incantation. Arc's neck was properly secured; he couldn't even tense his neck up to disrupt the pattern.

"I'm sure you're still unaware of Latimar's origins," said Cervantes, altering his movements as he added another layer of symbols to Arc's neck. "On our world, he was one-of-a-kind. The truest anomaly among dragons, and so very alone. But it was far better than the land he came from… the land he _escaped_ from."

"So it's true, then," said Arc, aiming to keep Cervantes talking as long as possible while he discerned the incantation's purpose. "He wasn't from our world."

"Is that surprising? Could a race of dragons of that magnitude have coexisted with humans? One would have destroyed the other long ago. Latimar fled from his world because something else had invaded it, something Latimar feared could one day find its way to our world. That is why he stood guard over the Monolith instead of destroying it – he feared its use, but he also believed the world might need it eventually. Even the Ancestors believed this – they knew about the Monolith and deliberately added the knowledge to the Hyperion essence so that it could be guarded. They knew about other alien lands, other planes of existence. They knew there were things in the universe itching to swallow up our world."

Monolith – Arc didn't know the name. Latimar never shared it with him, never shared any of this with him. So why would Cervantes be in such a sharing mood now? That worried him more than anything else.

"So you're doing all this out of the goodness of your heart?" mocked Arc.

"I'm doing this to save our world. I have Latimar's knowledge, as you well know, and I have seen the signs. There will be no second chances for anyone, Archibald, unless I can awaken the Monolith."

"Right," chided Arc. "And you'll put the Monolith back after you're done playing with it, I suppose."

"The Monolith will not be enough by itself, Archibald," countered Cervantes. "Humanity, the dragons… they will become my army, my foot soldiers. I will unite them with the only thing that truly unites people together – with pain."

Cervantes ceased his rubbing and placed both hands on Arc's neck, somewhere within the magical pattern. Arc's heart accelerated – he had the horrible feeling he knew what was coming.

"I can feel your pulse quicken," observed Cervantes. "Don't worry, though. It's not what you think. I cannot take any more Hyperion essence without literally burning alive. But we are connected through the essence we share, and I can use that connection. I honestly don't want to, because it's a two-way road. But as you so commonly say, I simply have too much to do… and so little time to do it in."

Cervantes pushed down hard on Arc's neck, and the imprisoned dragon felt the mental intrusion almost immediately. No buildup, no suspense, no pain. Suddenly he had a second set of memories in his head, alien memories, jumbled, overpowering memories…

He was above a blighted landscape, the ground a hideous gray sludge of dust and foul liquid. Whirlpools formed in the sludge, sucking down piles of debris and spitting them out elsewhere. The hills became mobile, sliding and churning as if the land had mistakenly become the sea. For hundreds of miles, nothing but insidious destruction remained. Not one animal, not one plant, not even one uncontaminated stone – all a cauldron of shifting chaos.

His heart raced as he flew through cloud after cloud of billowing gases that bit at his scales and choked his nostrils. He was so close to the Gate, but every mile felt like a hundred as the dying planet screamed around him. The clouds concealed him, he had lucked into them, forced himself to endure the scalding pain to escape. His eyes wept from the acidic cloud and from pure unadulterated fear.

So close now. The glow from the Gate, the last gasp of a dead civilization, could be seen pulsing through the clouds. Just a few more miles. Let the stinging continue, for it meant he still lived where everything else had died.

The clouds parted too early, the circular Gate floating exposed, its iridescent magnificence calling to him. It was just big enough to fit his great form. He was just big enough to survive the trip.

The dark sky above him was no mere sky. Exposed, he saw the sky _move_, undulate. A rent in the sky formed, a bright putrid-green thing shining through the dark mass. Its light followed him, the ground churning and exploding where the light touched. It saw him, and it _wanted _him…

Arc gasped as the knowledge and all its intrusive companions vanished from his mind. He coughed violently, still feeling the choking atmosphere in his lungs. It was like waking up from a dream, the memory hazy but still there, the one thing he had taken away from the experience.

Arc shook it off as best he could, but he wouldn't soon be forgetting that ordeal. Latimar's final memory of his homeland, without a doubt. Latimar had carried it around for centuries, even before becoming a Hyperion. His friend had never hinted at such a past, such a tragedy. Even after eleven centuries of life, it was easily one of the worst thing Arc had ever witnessed.

Cervantes groaned behind him as the mage removed his hands from Arc's neck. "Unpleasant," he remarked woozily. "Your mental image of me is rather unflattering. But I found what I needed. What did you see, old dragon? Bearing witness to my knowledge could not have been pleasing."

"It wasn't," replied Arc. "But such memories do not give you the right…"

"Nothing _gives_ you the right, Archibald," said Cervantes, his voice and footsteps growing distant. "The right is achieved. It is _always_ achieved, or else it is meaningless."

Alone again, Arc wallowed in frustration. Cervantes had shared his mind to gain the location of the powercore from Arc's. Once he had the artifact, he would have no reason to keep Arc alive. There would be no way to stop him now, no one willing or able to take on Cervantes and his men. Arc knew that his pride, his thirst for vengeance, had made him go after Cervantes alone. Maybe together with Nestor, maybe allied with that boy Hiccup and his dragon, they might have had a chance. Too late now for such wishes.

Nestor would try to stand against Cervantes, alone on an island with a hostile population. Nestor would fail.

"I'm sorry, my boy," he said aloud, knowing Nestor couldn't hear him but feeling the need to say it regardless.

* * *

><p>The west-most section of the Wasteland remained free of charcoal and scorch marks, a sloping, rugged piece of terrain that ran from the rocky shoals of the coast to the eroding cliff walls above. Gunnarr and Berkian alike filled the cliffside to watch the Trial unfold, to see who truly had Tyr's favor today. The Berkians who had come to watch largely supported the young son-of-Stoick, though few expected a victorious outcome. Many had expected to be watching Hiccup's Dragon Squad in action today instead of watching Hiccup foolishly throw his life away for an outsider.<p>

Down by the lapping waters of the beach, four bath-deprived Gunnarr warriors stood on guard around Nestor as he sat on a rigid boulder. They were there to ensure his cooperation. Stoick and Gobber waited a short distance away with their own small contingent of warriors, watching for Hiccup's ride to appear from the direction of the village. They both wore scowls borne from their concern for Hiccup. Gobber's scowl was deeper than Stoick's; he'd seen the boy in the Arena during dragon training and he knew how outclassed the young Viking was.

"Who comes up with these things?" commented Gobber. "A trial where only the strongest get declared not guilty? I guess justice isn't for the young, old, sick, or flabby."

"It was a compromise, old friend," said Stoick grimly. "A law no one expected to ever use. I never thought Hiccup would be the one to test it." He grimaced as a vision of his son meeting the bad end of a war hammer came to mind. "Odin's breath, I should never have given Hiccup the idea."

"Lad's got loyalty, all right. Hope he's worth the trouble." Gobber referred to Nestor with a sweep of his utility hook.

"Hiccup thinks he is… and that has to be enough for me."

"Then I should go in on Hiccup's behest," offered Gobber. "I only have two good limbs to lose. He has three. Simple math."

Stoick appreciated the words, but frowned at the idea. "It's a kind gesture, Gobber, but your false leg would trip you up on those rocks."

"The day I can't handle a few measly stones is the day I wear my undies on the outside. Tell you what? I'll fly it by Hiccup and see what he thinks."

A blue dragon glided into view from around the cliffs, heading for the meeting place. Gobber waved to it and said, "Ah, here comes your… son?"

Surprise was had by all as Beatrix landed near the group and unloaded its one passenger – Astrid. Untying her new axe from Beatrix's saddle, she boldly strode over to Stoick and Gobber. Nestor came over as well, his eyebrows narrowed in confusion, the Gunnarr guards following behind him. He eyed the axe cautiously but kept his mouth shut about the special weapon in her hands.

"Hiccup is… indisposed," she calmly explained to the group, ignoring the questioning stares. "I am taking his place in the Trial."

"The lass beat me to it," said Gobber.

"Is he all right?" asked Stoick.

Astrid nodded. "He's fine, but he won't be able to make it. What are the rules?"

Stoick's grimace widened as he considered allowing the substitution. He didn't question Hiccup's indisposition, though he suspected Astrid had helped him along. She certainly was the best choice when compared to Hiccup or Gobber. But he knew Hiccup cared about her and he didn't want to be the one to let her join the Trial and get killed.

No other willing choices, though. He pictured Gobber against Cragfist and his merciless fury and knew Gobber wouldn't survive it. Astrid, young and with four functioning limbs, might.

"A few things you should know," said Stoick. He pointed down the coast toward a low rock-encrusted hill. "Beyond that hill is the location of the Idol of Tyr, which is what either you or Nestor must bring to the finish line up on the cliffside." He moved his finger to the cliffs with the teeming throngs of onlookers. "The Seer and Cragfist wait at their own designated position, and they will try to take the Idol instead. When the word is given, both sides will race to the Idol. Other than that, there are no rules. You take what you can carry, use whatever skills are at your disposal."

Astrid understood and said so. Nestor did the same. Stoick instructed them to go to a marked set of boulders as Gobber signaled a figure in the distance to relay the message that they were ready. Stoick offered Nestor any weapon he needed and Nestor politely declined. Both Gobber and Stoick frowned at the man's confident, and weaponless, demeanor, but they wished him and Astrid good luck regardless.

Nestor and Astrid lined up behind a strung-up rope draped with a Berkian dragon-flag and watched the distant signalman, waiting for the starting horn to bellow.

"So Hiccup is…" started Nestor.

"Stuck in an outhouse," Astrid finished.

"Not very dignified. The axe?"

"He gave it to me. It's made of myssteel."

"I know. I helped Hiccup make it. I hope you're careful with it."

"Careful? What do you think we're doing here, Nestor?"

Nestor laughed. "The plan was for me to do this Trial alone. If you haven't noticed, I do have a semi-indestructible barrier around me. As far as I'm concerned, the plan's the same. I'm going for the Idol, and I don't plan on fighting anyone."

Astrid scowled at him. "The Seer might have something to say about that."

"Ah, yeah. Hiccup said you two were friends."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't say that."

"Do you have a problem fighting her?"

Her face was set with determination. "No."

"Any tips?"

"Yeah… Don't fight her."

Nestor didn't like the certainty in her voice. He was hard pressed to believe there was anything the Seer could do to him, not unless she had some way of getting past his barrier-field. But the Seer had confidently volunteered to go up against him, as if she had insider knowledge.

"One last thing," said Nestor. "If this goes badly for me, tell Hiccup that it's up to him to get rid of the powercore. He knows where it is. Drop it in the ocean or something. I hate to put the responsibility on him, but someone's got to keep it out of Cervantes's hands."

Astrid nodded. "And if this goes badly for me… tell Hiccup that I…" She couldn't quite pull the words out of her mouth, and she stammered as a result. "You know, that he means… No, that I…"

"I will," he agreed, saving her from her wayward mouth. "But you'll tell him yourself when this is over." He smiled reassuringly. She smiled back gratefully.

They heard the blaring horn that signaled the start of the Trial. Then they were sprinting beyond the starting line and up the craggy hillside, nimbly stepping on and over treacherous stones and loose gravel as they headed for the Idol and the unavoidable battle to come.

* * *

><p>It was a flimsy door suited for privacy and not security, less than half-an-inch thick. His dad could have pressed his finger to it and broken through. Naturally, Hiccup couldn't even make it squeak, especially while it was braced. The thought of Astrid going into the Trial in his place did put energy into his efforts, though it didn't add any muscle.<p>

He flirted with the idea of knocking over the outhouse and exiting through the toilet hole on the bottom, as disgusting as that sounded. He even tried shoving against a wall to rock it over. Nope, too well built, too heavy. It was times like these that he dearly wished he had inherited more from his dad's side of the family.

He changed tactics and sat back down on the toilet, taking off his metal foot and using the thinnest part of it to work the support nails off the door hinges. They were wedged in very tightly, but at least this was a feat his meager strength could eventually overcome.

He pried one of the hinges free after several sweaty minutes while holding his nose against the pervasive stink. He was beginning on the second and last one when he heard a low chuffing, growling sound from behind the door, a shadow passing by the ventilation slit.

His foot detached, Hiccup hopped and crawled on top of the toilet and peeked through the slit. A big yellow eye peeked back at him, followed by a welcoming growl.

"Toothless!" said Hiccup. "Boy, am I glad that you never listen to me. Something's stuck to the door on the other side. See if you can…"

Before Hiccup could complete his instructions, Toothless placed a paw up to the slit and grabbed onto it with his outstretched claws. With a wrenching tear that rocked the outhouse, the door came loose altogether and took the remaining hinge with it. Toothless backed up with the wrecked door in his paws, happily growling at his freed friend.

"Or… Or that works too," remarked Hiccup.

* * *

><p>The Idol of Tyr could have been mistaken for any number of Viking Gods or heroes that the Norse loved to worship. Even its missing right hand wasn't much of a distinguishing feature. What made is special was its rare marble composition, making it a surprisingly smooth, elegant, and hefty trophy to use in a trial of combat.<p>

It resided on a dry rock surrounded by receding tidal water in the middle of a tiny valley, petite streams of seawater seeping through cracks in the steep walls of stone that ringed the idol's resting place. To the west was the long, narrow slope toward the finish line flanked by steep drops that descended all the way back to the rocky beach. There was no cover within the ring, no easy escape once you went beyond the protective walls.

"Guess we're the first ones here," said Nestor, perched on top of the wall and scanning the far walls a third time. "I could go in, get it, and be done." When Astrid gave him an incredulous look, he added, "Ah, yeah, I don't believe it either."

"Too bad we're upwind," said Astrid at his side, noting the wind blowing at her braided hair. "I could've smelled Cragfist a mile away."

"Better get this over with, then," said Nestor. "Stay back while I flush them out."

"And then what?"

Nestor shrugged away any definite answers. "We'll see."

He scaled down the wall and through the pools of seawater, making for the Idol all too casually. Astrid didn't think Nestor was taking this seriously enough, though she admitted to herself that a man who could survive getting pummeled by a giant metal skele-bull wouldn't think highly of two ordinary Vikings, Gunnarr or otherwise.

But one of those Gunnarr was anything but ordinary.

Nestor sauntered out to within reach of the Idol, placed his hands on his hips, and called out, "Okay, I'm here. You two can spring your ambush now… Hello?… C'mon, I don't have all day… I'll start singing if I have to, and you really don't want that."

Nestor turned his back and a shadow moved along the wall to the east. An arrow flew out a moment later from the shadow, striking Nestor in the back. A mortal hit had his barrier not deflected it. The shadow fled behind its cover before Astrid could identify it.

Unimpressed, Nestor pivoted around again and waggled his finger in the attacker's direction. "If that's the best you two have, then I'll be taking the Idol and leaving now."

"That was a diversion," came the icy voice from behind him.

Nestor did another pivot, now facing the Seer covered in her cloak and hood as she blocked the most direct route to the west and the finish line. Nestor whistled lightly, more impressed this time. That had been a window of opportunity a few seconds long. A fast one, the Seer.

"While we have a moment, can we talk?" asked Nestor.

"This is a trial of combat, not a trial," stated the Seer.

"Yes, I get that," replied Nestor. "I just want to know if it's something I did or something I'm going to do?"

"It's something you _are_," said the Seer forcefully, "though not for much longer."

In a purely overdramatic fashion, she flung her cloak away and stood revealed in full Gunnarr battle dress, a pair of daggers hooked to her belt. She immediately snapped the blades into her hands, wicked weapons with longer blades than usual for daggers, far more sharp and angled than your typical Norse design. The sheen of the metal, the silver hue – Nestor recognized the quality of the weapons and his confidence dropped several levels.

"What are those?" he asked.

"Here, see one for yourself," the Seer answered, punctuating her sentence by flinging her right dagger out, the blade spinning straight at Nestor.

Force of habit almost ended him right there. No weapon could get past his barrier until it had weakened considerably. But his gut told him not to let this blade touch him, and he slid to the right. The blade still grazed his left arm, hitting his barrier and then going _through_ it. He winced in pain as his shoulder acquired a shallow cut, doing no real damage other than ruining his shirt but sending a separate dagger of panic into Nestor's soul.

The dagger finished its journey by curving around in the air, homing in on the Seer, and coming to rest back in her right hand. She continued to give Nestor a frigid stare, like he was a revolting bug needing to be squashed.

_Now_ Nestor was taking this seriously. Myssteel had a strange relationship with mystical energy. It could be hurt by magic, but if tempered properly it could also counter magic. It was a game of punch-counterpunch. You had to match the metal's energy with an equal amount of your own to block it. No more relying on instant barriers.

Nestor shunted energy to his arms and legs just as the Seer performed a double-throw, tossing both daggers straight at him. But he was already rolling away, his speed increased by his mystical reapportioning. The daggers curved again and returned to the Seer, her eyes following Nestor as he stood back up and prepared to face her.

Something large barreled into him from behind, accompanied by a pungent odor and a belligerent war cry. Instead of using his bow or the large two-handed sword slung around his back, Cragfist choose to wrap his bulging arms around Nestor's chest and trap him in a headlock. Nestor groaned as he realized how exposed his back had been to Cragfist. While the Viking's body odor was potentially lethal, he wasn't hurting Nestor, only grappling with him. He had a worse idea in mind.

"End him!" yelled Cragfist, leaning back and exposing Nestor's unprotected chest to the Seer. Nestor's feet left the ground and he squirmed helplessly in the Viking's grip as the Seer cocked back her right hand and…

… Recoiled as an airborne double-bladed axe almost cleaved her nose from her face. The axe twisted in midair and sped back to Astrid's outstretched hand, the young warrior already down the wall and running to help.

Nestor didn't waste the opportunity, channeling most of his magic into his arms and shoving down with his elbows, breaking Cragfist's hold. His feet touched again and gave him the leverage to spin out of the thug's grip and shove him right in the chest. The surprised Viking went sprawling and smacked the rocks hard a good ten feet away, dazed.

Astrid took up position between the Seer and Nestor, the Seer's cold eyes now registering shock as she addressed Astrid.

"By the Gods, where did you get that axe?" she demanded.

"I could ask you the same thing about your weapons," spat back Astrid. "That was a warning throw, by the way."

"How'd you know it would return?" asked Nestor, keeping Astrid in front of him as he waited for the Seer to do something.

"Didn't, but after watching _her_ do it…"

"Do you think this changes anything?" interjected the Seer. "If you think I will not go through you…"

"I don't think anything," said Astrid. "I don't know you. I would have liked to have been your friend, but not now, not when you pull stuff like this."

"I'm protecting my people, Astrid," said the Seer. "You should be doing the same."

Astrid smirked and took a step forward, daring the Seer to action. "I am."

They stood off against each other for second after crawling second, neither one wishing to hurt other, neither one desiring to make the first move. Astrid feared the mutual reluctance wouldn't hold for long and that she'd be fighting a no-win battle within moments. She mentally recited a short prayer to Odin involving speedy victories or speedy deaths.

Nestor broke the paralysis by racing for the Idol, his legs glowing intensely as he scooped it up and barreled toward the Seer. The Seer shifted her stand and prepared to meet Nestor's charge, her daggers raised and ready.

Astrid had a clean throw and nearly took it before her ears caught the creak of a bowstring being pulled back. She whirled and ducked as an arrow rushed past her hair, breaking in two on the rocks behind her. Cragfist was back on his feet and already readying another arrow as Astrid stood up and charged him, hoping Nestor could fend off the Seer while she dealt with the other threat.

Nestor did better than that. As he neared the Seer, her weapons poised to perforate him, he vaulted into the air right over her head. Clearing a good ten-foot-high jump, he landed on the beginning of the slope behind her and kept going, the Idol securely under his left arm.

Muttering an Old Norse curse insulting Nestor's mother, the Seer gave chase. She was not about to let him escape, not with so much at stake.

* * *

><p>"I think he's coming this way," reported Snotlout, sitting on Fishlegs's ample shoulders and shading his eyes with his hands. "Yeah, this way. I think the Seer's chasing him. Man, can he run. She's not going to catch him."<p>

Most of the good spectating spots along the cliff were taken by the adults, so the Dragon Squad had to improvise where they could. Fishlegs had meekly agreed to be the vantage point for Snotlout while the twins jostled each other for control of a convenient tree stump.

"What, no fighting?" said Tuffnut, the current king of the stump.

"Astrid's doing something, but it's hard to see," said Snotlout. "Legs, try standing on tiptoe."

"I _am_," Fishlegs complained, "and it's not good for my arches."

"Somebody better get a bloody nose out of this, or I'm going to feel cheated," said Tuffnut.

"That is Astrid out there, you know?" remarked Ruffnut.

"What, girls can't get bloody noses?" said Tuffnut.

"Okay, my turn," demanded Ruffnut, tugging at her brother's arm. "That was ten seconds."

"What? No it wasn't. You count fast."

"At least I can count. Off!"

After another round of tussling, Ruffnut asserted control and looked on as Nestor continued his sprint towards the cliffs. "You know, he's kinda cute," she casually remarked.

Tuffnut stared at his sister. "You talking about Cragfist, right? Right?"

Ruffnut stared back at him and shrugged. "What?"

"What do you mean, what? Tell me you're not actually talking about…"

"Hiccup!" shouted Fishlegs abruptly, spotting their young leader running to meet them, Toothless coming up behind him. Dragons weren't supposed to be present at the Trial, but no one attempted to tell Toothless to leave.

"Oh, the great hero shows up finally," said Snotlout caustically. "Couldn't stand letting your girlfriend fight your battles for you, is that it?"

"She's kicking butt, you know," said Fishlegs excitedly. "And your friend's almost made it up here."

Hiccup sighed out his relief. With a no-fly order over the Trial in effect, Hiccup couldn't get close enough to see the event until now. The mob of warm bodies still blocked his view, but he did have a way around that.

"Give me a boost, bud," he told Toothless. The dragon lowered his neck to let Hiccup hop on. He then reared back and elevated his head to allow Hiccup a proper view of the battle. Hiccup quickly spotted Nestor sprinting up the narrow slope, the Seer hot on his heels. Astrid was more distant, battling Cragfist in the tidal area. His relief faded fast as a cry from the crowd went up, indicating that a game-changing event had occurred.

Snotlout looked up at Hiccup's perch with envious eyes. "Why didn't I think of that?" he muttered.

* * *

><p>Cragfist had another arrow notched before Astrid could close the distance. A thug he might be, but not an unskilled one, and he aimed the arrow at her chest. He grinned, happy to have someone to hurt. He had been ordered to keep Hiccup alive, but not anyone else.<p>

"Nothing personal, girlie… AHH!"

Astrid's well-thrown axe cleaved his bow at the bottom, the tightening string springing out and smacking Cragfist on the arm, the arrow dropping from his hands. The axe missed the rest of him and curved around, though it took its sweet time returning.

Grinding his bad teeth, Cragfist tossed aside his wrecked bow and unsheathed his massive sword in one fluid motion, the many dents on its blade adding to the intimidating power of the weapon. He charged Astrid and brought down the sword in an overhead chop, a move he telegraphed to Astrid long before he executed it. She spun to the side as the sword smashed into the bottom of a puddle, creating a new dent and splashing Cragfist with salty seawater.

Her axe finally returned to her hand and she wasted no time swinging it around and into Cragfist's sword near the hilt. The myssteel went through the iron sword like it was made of curd, the hefty blade falling away from the Viking's hands. Cragfist dumbly looked at the ruined hilt and ground his teeth even more fiercely, slightly cracking a loose one in the process.

"Had enough?" chided Astrid with a smile.

Cragfist roared a negative and pulled out his hunting knife. He was three times Astrid's size and he could easily overbear her if she wasn't careful. Then again, she could easily split him down the middle if _she_ wasn't careful. Despite his bullying of Hiccup and generally unpleasant demeanor, she had no desire to kill him.

The able warrior within Cragfist had slipped away during the fight, replaced by an angry beast that thoughtlessly charged Astrid, his knife raised for a downward stab. Instead of dodging or swinging, Astrid rolled forward and to the side, sweeping her right leg backward and connecting with Cragfist's knee in mid-charge. The enraged lummox tripped over his injured leg and fell head first to the ground, whamming his helmet on a protruding rock. The fight left him all at once, the warrior slumping down into a pool of standing water and moaning softly.

"Stay down this time," she commanded. Kicking away Cragfist's knife, she then ran up the slope after Nestor and the Seer. She could see the two of them fighting it out to the frantic calls and cheers of the crowd, and she hoped she wouldn't be too late to help Nestor… because it didn't look good for him at all.

* * *

><p>A straight path to victory – the best kind.<p>

Shunting all his magic power to his legs, Nestor outdistanced the Seer more and more as he sprinted for the cliffs. There were no obstacles in his path, no walls to climb or gaping pits to fall into. Cragfist could have sniped him with an arrow, but Astrid occupied Cragfist's attention. He didn't want to leave her behind, but the safest course for everyone was to end the fight A.S.A.P. In less than thirty seconds, that would be the case.

Too easy, really. For all her supposed skills in combat, the blades she carried, and her so-called visionary talent, he had outmaneuvered the Seer thoroughly. Unless she could teleport ahead of him and…

He didn't feel any pain as his left leg snagged something thin and nigh invisible. His barrier made sure of that. But he _did_ feel it when he couldn't correct his balance in time and he hit the ground painfully hard, skidding and rolling over and over. The Idol left his hands and flew off somewhere, Nestor hardly noticing while his world remained a painful and disorienting slide on the hard rocky dirt.

He finally came to a stop, skinned up several places and bruised up even more. Nestor forced his arms and legs to get him back to his feet at a painfully slow rate. Nothing broken, most likely. He looked back the way he came and saw the culprit – a piece of fishing line tightly placed between two sets of rocks on the slope. Impossible to see when you're running for your life, he could barely see it now when juxtaposed against the Seer, who even now ran toward Nestor like a wolf on the hunt.

He frantically searched for the Idol, losing precious seconds as the Seer approached. He spotted it near the edge of the slope, precariously positioned to slide or bounce down to the rocky beach below. The Fates' Luck was on his side again – another inch and he'd be in serious trouble.

A second later, he was in serious trouble. Before he could take one step towards the Idol, a whirling dagger cut across the air and collided with the Idol, simultaneously cutting through the marble statuette and flinging it over the side. It clattered down to the beach in four or five pieces, taking Nestor's victory with it.

"_Salo krebit_!" Nestor glared at the Seer. "That's just cheating! What do we do now?" He waited in vain for an answer. She didn't need to answer him. He knew the rules. Delivering the Idol was one of two ways for the Trial to end, and evidentially it wasn't against the rules to make the Idol inaccessible or else someone would have cried foul by now.

She slowed to a walk as her dagger returned. She didn't need to rush him now – he had nowhere else to go.

The crowd on the cliffs grew silent as Nestor walked toward the Seer, adjusting his barrier to give his arms the power he needed to block her daggers. His heart sank as he realized what the Seer was forcing him to do. One of them dead at the other's feet before the Trial was over. He didn't hate the Seer, didn't even consider her his enemy, but if he was going to save Arc… he had to go through her.

"Lie down and accept your destiny," stated the Seer as Nestor approached, "or face me as you may. It will make no difference in the end."

"Such a pessimist," said Nestor. "If it's all the same to you, I'm taking a third option."

"True, you are no mere man," she replied, raising her daggers. "But I am the Seer, the heart of the Gunnarr, the legend in the flesh."

"Funny thing," said Nestor, raising his fists and smiling grimly. "I've spent the last few years _fighting_ legends."

She came at him like a whirling dervish, cutting the air with her daggers. Nestor got his arms in front of her attacks and blocked them, sparks of orange and crimson flying as his barrier met her blades. She drove in her daggers at his flanks, his chest, his thighs. Each time, his protected arms rebuffed her attacks. As fast as she was, as graceful and precise, she couldn't penetrate his blocking routine.

Frantic seconds flew by as Nestor kept the Seer at bay, no sign of fatigue or frustration on her face as she continued her assault. Nestor blocked and parried with equal confidence, though inwardly he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. The increased speed and strength of his arms only lasted as long as the barrier held its strength, the barrier weakening with each deflection. The myssteel daggers were taking their toll on his magic field. He needed to go offensive, but not while the Seer kept up her barrage. Wearing her out was the best option he had for now.

She pulled back, winded, surprised that Nestor wasn't falling over from a dozen stab wounds by now. She backed up towards the edge of the slope, a painful, bouncing slide a few footsteps away. Nestor feared she was going to throw a dagger and ran toward her to prevent the attack. A mistake, he quickly realized.

Expecting such a move, she sliced her daggers in a high arc, forcing Nestor's arms up to defend. Her right leg came up and connected with his stomach, which had no barrier protecting it. The kick blasted the air from his lungs and forced him backward, stubbornly keeping his arms at the ready instead of gripping his agony-riddled middle. The Seer wasted no time stabbing both daggers in, trying for a killing blow.

Not as injured as advertised, Nestor brought his arms down and drove her arms wide. Then he shoved his body into hers and grappled with her, keeping her arms spread out and unable to strike. They struggled against each other, neither one able to disengage without giving the other an opening.

Seeing the fierce, unwavering glare in her eyes, Nestor knew he had to take a risky step. She wasn't playing fair, so neither would he.

He shifted energy to his legs and shoved forward, pushing both of them off the path and down the side of the slope. The Seer had enough sense to stop worrying about Nestor and realize she was falling, but instead of shoving him away she gripped him around the chest and rode with him down the rock-strewn hill.

Nestor had no choice but to let his barrier take the brunt of the damage as the two of them careened off rock after rock, Nestor's field protecting both of them through the dizzying ride. The world spun wildly as they bounced off a fat, jagged outcropping, the impact jarring the Seer lose from Nestor and the two of them rolling separate directions.

Thankfully for the two of them, the fall ended soon after. Nestor fell straight on a pile of rough stones, sending a new wave of pain into his backside through his weakened field. Forcing his body to sit up through the agony and the dizziness, he saw the Seer had landed on a softer piece of ground. Lucky or just that good, it didn't matter. She was shaking off her own fall-induced grogginess, which gave him the seconds he needed to hide behind a nearby piece of rocky cover. A group of Gunnarr were watching him from up the coast, Stonefist's party most likely, but they were too far away to convey his location to the Seer.

He felt the aches and pains of dozens of bumps and bruises as he lay supine behind the rock, knowing he had little time before the Seer found him. His field was too diminished now to afford him protection against the Seer's weapons, and he definitely couldn't outfight her without it. He was at sea level now – no more falling to be done.

Just like his confidence, his bag of tricks was exhausted… except for the one untested trick he had left.

* * *

><p>Pain brought clarity, and clarity brought truth. So went the life of the Seer.<p>

Rising from her landing spot, she felt the pain quite well. Nothing serious, thank the Gods. Even better, her daggers remained in hand, the unnatural steel allowing her to slow and control her slide by digging into the stony earth beneath her. The Outlander, if it was truly him, had taken the worst of the fall for her.

No warrior had lasted this long against her. A tribute to his prowess, she'd admit that much. But for her people, this had to end as it had to.

Now he was hiding behind cover, and there were only a few spots big enough to hide him in the few seconds he'd gone missing. Though her face remained neutral, she felt a smidge of disdain for the man's cowardice. Running and hiding was not the Gunnarr way. Foes were to be faced in person.

She could see her Chief and his small band of men walking along the rocky beach toward her position. They would keep their distance. This was her fight, after all.

She spotted Astrid on top of the slope behind her, looking down on her in more ways than one. Cragfist had failed to stop her, you didn't have to be the Seer to predict that, but he'd kept Astrid out of the fight. It pained the Seer to have lost their fledging friendship, but it wouldn't have lasted past the summit regardless.

She searched around the rocks, her ears primed, her daggers hungry for combat. She expected to find the defeated man plopped down on the rocks like a beached porpoise, yet he continued to elude her.

She rounded the most likely piece of cover, her right dagger poised to thrust, but found only more gray stone. The air shimmered slightly, as if from a heat mirage, but she dismissed it as unimportant. She turned away and moved toward the next feasible piece of cover, keeping her right arm up and ready to strike as soon as she saw her prey.

Suddenly, she felt two hands grab her right arm from behind and twist her wrist. Crying out in pain, she couldn't stop her hand from opening and releasing the dagger. It clattered to the earth and went flying away as something kicked it down the beach.

Yes, _something_. She couldn't see the hands that grabbed her, nor the foot that booted her weapon. The shimmering she had ignored was right in front of her, grabbing her.

She brought her left arm around and slashed at the distortion, but it jumped back ahead of her swing. The distortion suddenly faded into the form of Nestor, who smirked at her and waved a cheerful greeting.

"Finally!" he happily declared. "You have any idea how long I've been waiting for this moment? Turns out, a little life-and-death incentive was all I needed."

She didn't understand what he was getting at, nor did she care. She desperately kept her expression calm despite the astonishment she felt. He had disappeared in plain sight. Utterly impossible.

His form faded into a distortion once more, his shimmering form floating before her almost teasingly. She switched her remaining dagger to her right hand and tossed it at the distortion's center-mass. He might have the power to fade from sight, but he still had a body that could bleed.

Somehow, she missed it. The distortion moved or played tricks with her vision or affected her throw because the shimmering figure before her stood unfazed. The dagger collided with the stone formation behind the distortion, the blade sinking into the rock up to the hilt and sticking there.

The distortion became the man once more, his mouth tight and grim, his right leg lashing out and taking the Seer in the stomach. She was knocked back into the hard side of the slope, her guts ceasing up from the blow. She tried to move away, but Nestor was already upon her, grabbing her throat with his outstretched left hand and pinning her against the slope. His arms glowed ruby-orange, her skin tingling from the energy flowing around her neck.

She tried kicking out – he slapped away her leg. She gripped the imprisoning arm with her hands, but it was like gripping a statue. Nestor's face was a hardened mask, a death mask that he wore but which now foretold her own.

"Impossible," she whispered out of her constricted vocal cords, her heart threatening to break her rib cage wide open.

"I get that a lot," he replied, and he cocked his right hand back in preparation for a savage punch. The world went mute as she stared at that glowing fist. The Seer knew what was coming, but she refused to close her eyes. Death would have to stare her down this day.

He hesitated, the grim mask he wore cracking and softening. His right fist lower slightly, then rose, then lowered slightly again. Nestor closed his eyes, shook his head once, and then tried to harden himself once more. It didn't work.

"Yield the fight," he quietly ordered.

"What?" She honestly couldn't understand his hesitation.

"Capitulate. Surrender. Concede. Whatever you want to call it."

"Why would I do that?"

"Why would you…?" Nestor's face cracked further. "It's pointless. This whole thing is pointless. Neither of us has to die today. End this."

"There is only one way to end this," she calmly replied. "Otherwise, you fail the Trial and your guilt stands."

"You can't be willing to die over this," he pleaded. "Not over me. Not over what you think I am."

"But I am," she wheezed. "I'm prepared, Outlander. My honor, my people, are at stake."

"Your honor?" shot back Nestor, his voice thick with sudden anger. "My friend's life is at stake! He's out there, alone, and I can't fail him!"

The unyielding mask returned, the hesitation gone as Nestor tightened his fist. He growled out in soul-wrenching denial as his fist connected with its target.

* * *

><p>The crunching echo reverberated through the Wasteland. All conversation ceased, all eyes were fixed on that one scene or struggled to see it. Stonefist and his men halted in their tracks, horrified. Stoick and Gobber raced to see the outcome while Hiccup and Astrid watched transfixed from their vantage points, fearing what that horrid cracking sound had meant.<p>

His eyes closed tightly, Nestor released his grip and walked away, the body slipping down the slope and down to the ground. He ignored the coughing, gasping sounds that came from it, brushing off the grime and debris off his right hand that had come from the rock he had smashed his fist into, the one to the right of the Seer's pretty head.

"Why?" came the faint voice from behind him.

He stopped, looked back over his shoulder at the wide-eyed young woman sitting on the ground rubbing her throat, and shook his head at her confusion. This shouldn't be something that brought confusion to anyone.

"I have standards," was the only explanation he gave.

Leaving the Seer behind, he met the approaching group of Gunnarr, Stonefist in the lead, and stopped before them. Stonefist tried to appear unimpressed, but his fellow Gunnarr back off slightly, holding their weapons as if they might ward him off.

"Well, Outlander?" Stonefist put his hands on his hip and cocked his head. "You didn't finish the Trial. I imagine you could flatten me and my men if you desired, but think of the trouble you'll bring to the son-of-Stoick, to the fine Vikings who…"

"Save it, Chief," Nestor replied, putting his hands behind his head and turning around so that he could be easily manacled. He said nothing as cold iron wrapped about his wrists and pinned his arms behind his back.

"All that power," commented Stonefist to his back, "but not the will to use it. What a waste."

As his handlers put the final touches on his manacles, Nestor looked up at the distant crowd, wondering if any of them even cared about his fate. What a good show he'd put on – that's all most of them would remember of this day. But then he spotted a black dragon crooning his neck above the crowd, a young man perched on top. Hiccup, having escaped his outhouse prison. Hiccup, devastated, helpless to intervene.

Nestor didn't even have a chance to say goodbye before two pairs of strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and led him away to the waiting longboat up the coast.


	15. A Wonderful and Terrible Point to Reach

**Author's Notes:** Geez, these chapters just keep getting longer. Good thing there's only five or six chapters left (still ironing out how I'm handling the ending), or my hands might fall off.

Onwards.

**Chapter Fourteen: A Wonderful And Terrible Point To Reach **

Stoick arrived on the scene shortly after Nestor disappeared onto a distant longboat, Gobber and his men hanging back as he approached Stonefist. The Gunnarr's attention was diverted for now, which suited Stoick just fine. He was afraid of where his fist might end up if Stonefist decided to gloat about the Trial's conclusion.

Nestor had fought well, far better than he figured a man of such small stature could have done. Sparing the Seer's life – noble, though not practical. It might not technically be a loss for Berk, since Nestor wasn't Berkian stock, but Stoick couldn't help but feel dismay at seeing the young man carted off to his doom.

Hiccup… Gods, Hiccup was not going to take this well.

Two more Gunnarr longboats were landing on the beach, bringing the current total to three. Another two boats were minutes away, their oars slapping the water rhythmically. Stoick's brow furrowed; the boats weren't disembarking any more warriors. In fact, they were preparing to cast off again. They didn't need so many boats to transport Stonefist and his people back to Berk. Why were they here, exactly?

One of the warriors on the deck of the closest boat was waving to Stonefist, a wicker basket underneath one arm. This act elicited a grunt of approval from Stonefist, though it only served to confuse Stoick further. Finally acknowledging Stoick's presence, Stonefist faced him and said, "That was quite the Trial. Who says justice can't be exciting?"

"Justice?" spat Stoick. "That had nothing to do with justice."

"Regardless, I consider the matter settled." Stonefist snapped a finger at a subordinate, who brought a scroll bound with a leather strap to the chieftain. "The Outlander will be delivered to our settlement for judgment. Take comfort that it will be swift and fair."

"What's going on, Stonefist?" said Stoick, demanding an answer.

"We cannot stay any longer," Stonefist explained. "We've had an ongoing territorial dispute with the Kingfisher Clan for some time now, and my people need their chief back."

"The summit isn't finished!" declared Stoick.

"It might as well be." Stonefist took the bound scroll from his subordinate and handed it directly to Stoick. "A signed copy of your current proposals. I find it… acceptable."

Stoick couldn't believe his ears. He took the scroll and read it. Sure enough, it was signed and sealed. Nothing but reasonable demands involving trade and patrol routes for both sides. On paper, peace would continue.

Stoick glanced at Stonefist skeptically, unwilling to believe it was this easy. "And you agree to abide by this new treaty?"

"I wouldn't have signed it otherwise. The remainder of my men will leave Berk shortly, as there are needed elsewhere. Congratulations, Stoick – you have peace. We should plan for the next summit at my home, where we can put the hospitality of the Gunnarr on display for a change."

Stonefist offered his hand. Stoick took it, though in no way did he trust the intentions behind it. Something important that he was unaware of had just transpired, and it bothered him immensely.

The Gunnarr on the cliffside had gotten the word and were filing down the beach to the boats, leaving the Berkians bewildered at the sudden end to the proceedings. The Gunnarr warriors previously in charge of guarding Nestor were now escorting Cragfist and the Seer past Stoick and Stonefist, two men propping up Stonefist's limping son between them. The Seer carried her cloak in her hands, her eyes averted to the ground.

As Cragfist passed his father, the chief shook his head disapprovingly. "You won't be living down this disgrace for a long time, my son." Cragfist moaned his sad response as he was helped along.

Then it was the Seer's turn, the chieftain and the young woman exchanging unhappy stares in silence. Stoick wondered if they were reading each other's minds, so intense their gazes were toward each other. But the Seer eventually gave up the contest and moved on, the Chief shaking his head once again.

Right after Stonefist gave one last farewell and left for the ships, Gobber came up beside Stoick and said, "That's it? No more summit? No Dragon Demonstration? They sign a treaty, they take the young man as a consolation prize, and they up and leave? This smells worse than my dirty linen."

"No, Gobber," replied Stoick, "this smells worse than my outhouse."

* * *

><p>Astrid took her time navigating the slope up to the supportive crowd of Berkians, her axe slung over her shoulder and the tide of Gunnarr on their way down to the boats ignoring her. When she reached the crowd of well-wishers, she gave people polite nods and thank-yous despite not feeling it. They loved watching her handily trounce the Gunnarr Chief's son, not caring that the real reason for the Trial had been lost.<p>

She managed to break through the throng and found her friends waiting for her. Hiccup stood to one side, briefly looking out at the boat sailing away with Nestor before giving her a slight smile of welcome. It broke her heart to see his face like that, struggling to be happy to see her while knowing that his new friend was off to be executed.

Toothless sat by him with his head on his paws, acting as sullen as Hiccup must be feeling. Unlike everyone else, the dragon knew a bad outcome when he saw it.

"You were too awesome, Astrid," said Snotlout, the others nodding his sentiment though not as enthusiastically. "I swear, Cragfist didn't even know his own name after you were done with him."

"Seemed like an okay guy," said Ruffnut softly, picking up on Astrid's mood. "Nestor, I mean. Just don't blame yourself over what happened."

"Why should she?" said Tuffnut. "He _had_ her. What kind of warrior…?"

"Why don't you guys go ahead?" Astrid said, interrupting Tuffnut as she glanced at Hiccup, who was watching the departing ship once again. "We'll see you back in the village." They agreed and left for their dragons, leaving Astrid alone with Hiccup and Toothless.

"You were amazing, you know," said Hiccup quietly, his eyes back on her.

"Please don't say that," she replied, dropping her polite attitude at last. "Of all people, you shouldn't be saying that. I blew it, Hiccup. I should have…"

"Should have what? Gotten yourself killed?" Hiccup sadly shook his head. "Outside of locking me in my outhouse, I can't think of any mistakes you made. You owe me a door, by the way."

Her fists clenched in frustration, Astrid sat down on the stump Ruff and Tuff had used to spectate from. "I still failed. I failed him… I failed you."

Hiccup managed to squeeze next to Astrid on the stump and put a hand on her shoulder. "Nestor couldn't have had a better ally out there today. You didn't fail anyone. Take it from a guy who knows failure."

Astrid looked at him sadly, refusing to take any comfort from his words. "Why are you cheering me up? You the one who…" She let out an exasperated cry and stood back up, fuming. "He didn't finish her off! Why? He knew what was at stake! The Seer wouldn't have done the same for him!"

"Why didn't you finish off Cragfist, Astrid?"

"Because I…" she started, then realized she really didn't know the answer and calmed down. "I don't know. Maybe you're rubbing off on me, Hiccup."

"If so, I'll take it as a compliment," he replied, standing up. "But right now… I just need to be somewhere else." He patted Toothless to get his attention and mounted his saddle as the dragon stood up. "If my dad asks, tell him I'm running an errand."

"The artifacts, right?" Astrid kept her voice low even though they were practically by themselves on the cliffs. "Nestor said…"

"I know, Astrid. I'll deal with it." He tried to give her one last unconvincing smile, then gave up on it altogether as Toothless took to the air. Astrid watched him leave, anger and sadness gripping her heart. This wasn't one of those occasions where a pep talk or a crazy plan would make everything better, not unless they wanted to start a war over a man that her people didn't care about.

They lost this one. No other way to put it.

* * *

><p>In no rush to get to Nestor's cave, yet feeling the need to get his final task for Nestor over with, Hiccup tried not to think too much during the flight. He failed almost immediately.<p>

"It's wrong, Toothless," he said, his voice muffled by the wind as Toothless found an updraft and used it to gain some altitude. His friend's ears perked up as he spoke. "Why am I the only one that cares that it's wrong? He shouldn't be punished for showing mercy."

No argument from Toothless. Not surprising.

"It was a stupid law. It was a stupid situation. It's might-makes-right all over again, and the worst part is that I'm the one who talked Nestor into it. I try to find a way out for everyone, and it backfires. But we have peace now, right? All it took was serving up Nestor on a platter."

Toothless twisted his head toward Hiccup and growled sympathetically. Hiccup gave him a gentle squeeze around the neck. "I know, bud. Maybe I'm being too negative. Maybe Arc is fine and about to swoop in and save Nestor, probably at the last minute." He sighed. "Too bad I don't believe it."

His heart felt too heavy now. He told himself to worry about what's in front of him: getting those artifacts away from the island and dumping them in the deepest part of the ocean. It was something tangible he could do, one last act for Nestor before forcing himself to accept the injustices of life. Nestor wouldn't die in vain. Cervantes wouldn't win. Some good will rise out of all this turmoil.

It burned him worse than the hottest dragon fire when he arrived at the cave-camp and found it in complete disarray, Nestor's possessions thrown about or ripped apart.

He searched through the wreckage of the camp for some clue to the vandal's identity. The clue came in the form of a smell – an eye-watering, sweat-thick odor. Hiccup could detect it on one of Nestor's vandalized shirts, which didn't make any sense as Nestor was a bit of a clean freak. Then he recognized it, Toothless confirming Hiccup's suspicions by growling at the ruined fabric. It was the smell that originated from Vikings who ranked bathing as Number Twelve on their list of The Top Fifty Unacceptable Human Weaknesses.

They had been separate problems – the Gunnarr and Cervantes. He hadn't seen any connection, any reason to suspect otherwise. The Seer had ultimately doomed Nestor, but that still didn't raise any suspicions. There was no way a group of Gunnarr could have stumbled onto the artifacts in Nestor's cave by accident. They were too well hidden, shoved into a dark hole that a torch's light couldn't illuminate. Yet when Hiccup uncovered the hidden alcove in the cave, he found it completely empty, his anger morphing into stark terror.

Either the Gunnarr vandals had exceptional luck… or a little mystical assistance. And if the Gunnarr were such deviltry-hating hotheads, why would they take the artifacts and not present them as further proof of Nestor's inherent guilt? They wouldn't even know what they were… unless someone had given them the heads-up already.

If they were working together, the Gunnarr and Cervantes, then Gods help them all.

* * *

><p>For the second time is less than a day, Stoick had the dubious privilege of listening to his son explain how things were actually far, far worse than previously imagined.<p>

He was trekking back on foot with the other dragon-less Berkians when Hiccup found him and asked to speak to him in private. They found a secluded spot on a forested ridge, with only rustling birds in the boughs as spectators, and then Hiccup told him the bad news. Stoick took it pretty well, snapping one five-foot sapling into kindling in a fit of anger but otherwise leaving the rest of the island unbroken.

"I _knew_ Stonefist was too accommodating," said Stoick, grinding another twig under his boot into sawdust. "This Outlander garbage must have been a diversion so they could search for the whatamacallit…"

"Powercore," said Hiccup.

"Whatever. I bet it was on that ship that came to pick up Stonefist. He did this right under our noses, the backstabber. At least it makes sense now, why he left so quickly."

"Why would he do this?" said Hiccup. "Does he fear us that much?"

Stoick stopped punishing the forest for a second and faced Hiccup. "Yes, son. Stonefist fears our dragons that much. He was adamant about reducing their numbers. That point alone almost sank our negotiations, but it wasn't in the treaty he signed. I suspect he's as afraid of going to war as we are. But that fear may have driven him to extreme lengths."

"Like Cervantes?"

Stoick waved his hands in a gesture of exasperated ignorance. "Yes, or like your bola launcher design, or like this summit. Like this Monolith you've mentioned. I wouldn't put anything past him."

"Glad you agree," said Hiccup eagerly, his previously depleted reservoir of hope filling up again. "So should I go ahead and round up some dragon riders or do you want to make an official order first before I…?" He stopped getting ahead of himself upon seeing his dad's sour expression, which was not a supportive one. "And now you have that face you make when you're about to tell me something bad."

"Hiccup, we have no evidence," Stoick explained. "A few smelly rags aren't going to convince our people."

"Dad, you're the chief," replied Hiccup. "You say jump and we'll say, "Over which cliff?'"

"That was in the past, when our enemies weren't our own brethren," rebutted Stoick. "If we attack those ships, we'll start a war that may bring ruin on us all. Not to mention that we may still be wrong about the Gunnarr. It's too big a gamble."

Hiccup's hope reservoir had just sprung a leak. "But if I'm right, then the bigger gamble is doing nothing. If Cervantes awakens the Monolith, whom do you think he'll use it on first? I know Stonefist will have a few suggestions for him."

"I'm sorry, Hiccup," Stoick said somberly. "Rash judgment nearly destroyed our people against Red Death. _My_ rash judgment. History will not repeat itself on my watch."

"You made a mistake, Dad. It happens," Hiccup replied desperately. "Don't start second-guessing yourself."

"I'm sorry, Hiccup." Stoick faced away from his son and looked out over the treetops to the vast, sparkling sea. It offered him no solace, no piece of mind. "Never again will I lead our people to their doom."

Hiccup couldn't believe it. The proud Viking who used to consider dragons raids a recreational sport, who happily roused the village fleet to invade an deserted island if he found a single dragon scale buried in the dirt, was balking from a fight. The battle with Red Death had shaken him more than anyone knew, more than even Hiccup had realized. Some caution was reasonable, but his father had taken it to the other extreme.

"That's it, then," said Hiccup, throwing up his hands in defeat as his spirit returned to its previous state of depression. "Nestor's going to die, and for nothing. We'll just stay here and wait for the end of the world or something along those lines."

"I can't be held responsible for the actions of all my people."

Hiccup was about to leave when he heard his father speak that sentence, his tone oddly positive. Hiccup stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"Something Stonefist told me," elaborated Stoick, still keeping his eyes on the vast horizon. "He was weaseling out of taking responsibility for his men. But it's true. A leader cannot control his people all the time. If someone decides to take matters into their own hands, that's all there is to it. You can warn them, you can threaten punishment, you can tell them that if they get caught they will be on their own and at the Gunnarr's mercy – which is lacking – but in the end you can't control what they decide to do."

Hiccup didn't know what his dad was going on about. Was this a general discussion about leadership or did it have something to do with their present circumstances?

Stoick finally turned back to his son, his expression very conflicted. "Even a leader's family can defy him on occasion… or many occasions. He can only hope that they'll do it for the right reasons. He has to trust that they know what they may be getting into and that they can handle it, as they've handled other problems in the past."

Slow on the uptake for once, Hiccup finally caught the subtle meaning in his dad's words, and it blew him away. His dad was giving him permission to do what he needed to do, warning him about the consequences. It wasn't the same as a wing of dragon riders, but it was something.

It was a long time coming, but they'd finally reached it. They were at the point where his dad truly trusted him, not as a boy but as a man-to-be. Whether it was organizing a dragon squad for mock battle or volunteering for a trial of combat, his dad trusted him with the dangerous work now. It was a wonderful and terrible point to reach, but it was finally here.

"I understand, Dad," Hiccup said, smiling to show his true comprehension. Stoick didn't return the smile, but acknowledged his son with a nod and turned away to stare at the sea some more. His face fell as he thought about what he'd done, but he didn't revoke his words or cast doubt on the situation. He was a Viking and his son was a Viking, and the time had come to let Hiccup be the Viking he needed to be.

As Hiccup made to leave again, he called back to his son one last time and said, "If _someone_ does choose to set out on his own… may he return as soon and as safe as possible."

* * *

><p>Standing motionless for his friend, Toothless nonetheless kept giving Hiccup the stink-eye as he tightened the final straps and secured the grapple launcher to the dragon's underside. Despite numerous reassurances from Hiccup that the device would no longer misfire, Toothless was almost as thrilled about wearing the launcher again as he might have been thrilled about wearing a wreath woven from smoked eels. But he understood the need for it and allowed Hiccup to finish attaching the device.<p>

Sanctuary was already deep in shadow, the sun descending past the cliff walls and with less than an hour of light remaining. Time was not his ally here, but he needed the dark to pull this plan off. He just hoped Gobber's map depicting the most likely course between Berk and the Gunnarr homeland to the east was accurate, as Hiccup remained weak on celestial navigation.

"Anything digging in?" asked Hiccup. Toothless shook his head. "I promise, bud, after this you won't have to wear it ever again if you don't want to. But we're going to need it." Toothless didn't seem convinced, but he finally dropped the stink-eye and sat back on his haunches while Hiccup double-checked everything. The attachments fastened to the side of the launchers, the saddle pedals, the special two-seat arrangement – all in order. He gave every strap and every connection an extra yank or twist for good measure. If he could have fashioned a suit of myssteel plating for Toothless, that would have been stellar. He didn't have the time for it, though. Besides, he needed stealth tonight. He'd even smeared the shiny parts of the saddle with mud and dirt to help conceal Toothless.

Gone was Hiccup's usual attire of green-on-green. He found a black outfit in his wardrobe suitable for more formal occasions, as rare as those were in Berk. Perfect for blending in with the night sky.

"All ready?" said the approaching voice at his back.

"Sure," said Hiccup. "Last chance to…"

"Don't even start," said Astrid, clad in her own harness and carrying her myssteel axe. The axe head had an ebony cloth covering to hide the shine, and she wore a blacker version of her usual attire, complete with a Seer-like cloak and hood that covered her radiant hair. She took subterfuge seriously.

Telling Astrid about his plan was a no-brainer – she would have sussed him out anyway. Naturally, she demanded to come. After watching her take down Cragfist, he no longer feared putting her in danger. No, not true. He always worried. He just didn't have a good reason to say no. She knew the risks, knew that this could be a one-way trip and that things could go very badly for the three of them. It didn't matter to her. He loved her for that.

Yeah, loved.

"Did you tell anyone else?" he asked.

Astrid shook her head. "The fewer people, the better, right?"

"Anyone follow you?"

"Don't think so. Why?"

"Call it a hunch, but I think your wardrobe change caught someone's attention." Astrid realized Hiccup was looking behind her and swiveled, seeing the four other young Vikings that were just now squeezing through the natural entrance to Sanctuary, Fishlegs holding his breath and struggling out of the narrow crack.

"Seriously?" said Snotlout. "You two were going to take off without us? Not cool."

"This is what we trained for, isn't it?" said Tuffnut. "Can't let the deadliest thing in the air go to waste." He pointed a finger at his sister. "Don't even think it, Ruff."

"Guys, it's nothing personal," said Hiccup. "You know you're the first ones I'd pick as my wingmen."

"So you're leaving us behind… why?" asked Ruffnut.

"This isn't about firepower," said Astrid. "We're saving Nestor, not starting a war."

Tuffnut looked disappointed. "Really? Can't we do both?" Ruffnut knocked him on the helmet on general principles.

"No, thanks, I don't need any help," complained Fishlegs, still struggling through the opening. Ruff and Tuff rolled their eyes as they went to help their oversized friend.

Snotlout watched them leave, and then, as if worried about his public image, his voice lowered as he spoke to Hiccup. "Look, I know that you and I… well, I can't say we've been all that friendly to each other."

"That's the understated way of putting it," remarked Hiccup, the snark thick in his voice.

"Okay, I was a troll to you in the past," admitted Snotlout. "But really, whatever you're up to, I can't stand the idea of letting you three go out there alone. A team's a team, right?"

Hiccup nodded. "Right. So what you can do for us is be in charge while we're gone."

Snotlout rocked back on his heels. "Me? In charge? Even _I'm_ not sure that's a good idea."

"You'll be fine," reassured Astrid. "You're the Viking, you know."

"I know," agreed Snotlout, "but I never wanted any actual responsibility."

"I could always make Fishlegs…" began Hiccup.

"I'll do it! I'll do it!" interrupted Snotlout, taking his glory and running with it.

Fishlegs finally cleared the passage and came up to Hiccup carrying a small knapsack, which he promptly handed over to Hiccup. When Hiccup asked what was in it, Fishlegs told him it was a supply of paper and pencils, his private stash for his work on the Dragon Manual Revision Project.

"If you run into Green Lightning again," he explained, "I want stats."

* * *

><p>The iciness of the night air failed to match the iciness of the warriors glaring at Nestor as the small fleet of longboats sailed across the silent sea. A crescent moon flitted amidst the scattered clouds, but the longboats had their torches lit for navigational purposes and Nestor could see his captors' sour mugs just fine. Half a dozen guards sat with their weapons on their knees, ready to spring on him at a moment's notice.<p>

The guards were overkill, really. They already had his arms twisted behind his back, manacled and shackled to the boat's central mast at the base. Nestor had tested their give and found none. With his field at full strength, he _might_ be able to bust out of them, but it would take too long to do and the guards would be bashing him over the head the whole time. Not that it mattered if he did escape. The waters of the Atlantic were beyond freezing this far up north. If he escaped and managed to subdue the crew of the vessel, one of the other boats could just up and sink the boat he was on. His barrier was useless against frigid temperatures.

And then there was the Seer. Without a doubt, she'd slice him in two if he tried anything. She sat facing him near the bow of the ship, glaring at him with either suspicion or disdain. She hadn't donned her cloak again, which netted her surprised looks from the rest of the crew. They weren't used to seeing the Seer as a person, it seemed.

Nothing to do but sit cross-legged and brood about the future, brood about how he failed Arc, how he may have doomed untold lives by not taking down the Seer. How he was probably destined to die on an executioner's chopping block (assuming that's how the Gunnarr did it), all because of an act of mercy that would not be reciprocated.

Did he regret it? Hard to say. Arc had told him once that like most virtues, mercy was something you did for yourself and not for your enemy. The trick was not to be stupid about it. Arc would probably say that this instance didn't qualify.

Arc… he was never going to see him again. That by itself made everything so much worse. His only consolation was that Hiccup was finally free and clear of this disaster… he hoped. The Fates certainly muddled such conclusions with their randomness.

"You showed mercy today, Outlander."

He didn't realize the Seer was right in front of him until… well, she was right in front of him. The thin torchlight glimmered in her harsh stare, her mouth drawn up in a distasteful frown.

"Mercy is impractical," she said, slowly walking around her captive audience. "You never leave an enemy capable of returning to the fight. A true warrior would not reward your kindness."

"I'll keep that it mind next time," he commented.

"Next time?" She knelt down behind his back suddenly and grabbed a fistful of Nestor's hair, yanking his head back painfully. Nestor gritted his teeth and cried out reflexively as he was forced to stare up at the Seer's hatful eyes. "You shamed me, Outlander. You dishonored me in front of my people, and that is something I cannot forgive. I was willing to give you a quick death before, but now you've lost that privilege. The only 'next time' in your future will be the mercy you beg for when we put you to judgment… and you will find none."

She threw his head forward as she let go and rose to her feet, chuckles and snide remarks from the other Gunnarr around Nestor. He glared after her as she walked back to the bow, but she did not acknowledge him any further. If he was on the fence about his earlier act of mercy, that little act of sadism firmly pushed him into the…

Something wasn't right.

He shifted his hands slightly and felt the sudden looseness in his manacles. They were barely holding onto his wrists – a quick jerk would make them fall off, he wagered. He looked around to see if any of his guards had noticed, careful to keep the surprise off his face, but the guards were too busy discussing the myriad ways Nestor would suffer under the Seer's care to have picked up on the change.

The Seer had resumed her seating position and continued to give him the same ol' frosty stare, but there was a slight difference this time. There was a knowing glint in her eyes, a secret she now shared with Nestor. Wisely, he kept his frown in place and went back to staring unhappily at the deck.

He didn't know the Seer's game, but he was willing to play it. She'd used that tirade to unlock his bindings, to give him an opening. Living with Arc had taught him much about learning patience; he could wait for an opportunity to come. Nothing else had changed, but perhaps the Fates' Luck would return to him… or perhaps the Seer would soon supply some of her own.

* * *

><p>Another romantic night and another long trip in the air wasted on practical matters. A few hours of breathtaking ocean beauty above a star-strewn sky couldn't compete with the stomach-churning reality of what Hiccup planned on pulling off.<p>

Yet there was something pleasant about it. With his dragon buddy and his best girl… friend… whatever-they-were-at-the-moment at his back, the odds seemed reasonable. At least their mutual body heat kept them from freezing in the increasingly chilly breeze.

Hiccup had to thank the Gunnarr for putting up some torchlight. While the darkness obscured Toothless and his riders as they glided through the murky sky, it also made finding the fleet like trying to find a minnow in a basket of cod. As the Gunnarr had no reason to fear an attack from anyone, they were sailing with full torches and little regard for formation. But as Toothless closed in on the fleet, Hiccup noticed something was off.

"How many ships were in the fleet that came to Berk?" he said to Astrid, parked right at his back.

"Ten, I think," she replied, gripping her axe tighter in anticipation.

"That's what I thought." He counted the torchlights again, still coming up with the same disconcerting number. "I only see four ships."

Astrid counted them herself and was baffled by the discovery. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would they split up?"

"Beats me. Let's just make sure Nestor is in this fleet."

"You know, we still don't have a plan for what comes after," Astrid remarked. "Don't we need to get those artifacts back, too?"

"One problem at a time." Hiccup really didn't have an answer. He was hoping that Nestor knew something or that they might spot the powercore as they surveyed the fleet. Otherwise, he was well and truly winging it. Right now he had to concentrate the one plan he had thought out.

Toothless took them low, soundlessly flowing past the fleet like a dark cloud above the sea. He softly growled up at Hiccup and motioned with his head at the nearest longboat, his keen nightvision spotting something of interest. Hiccup strained to see the moving figures on the poorly lit deck, lucking upon one man at the base of the mast who looked to be the center of attention on the boat.

"He's on that one," Hiccup whispered to Astrid. He looked again, scrutinizing the scene for important details. He found a big one. "I think he's secured to the mast. We won't be able to rescue him like that."

"First things first," said Astrid. "We'll need a distraction if this plan is going to work. Let's put the hurt on one of the other ships."

"We can't use dragon fire, Astrid," cautioned Hiccup. "It'll light us up like a bonfire. Besides, we don't want to burn one of their boats and…"

"I know, I know, zero body count," she interrupted, pulling the cloth cover off her axe. "I have a better idea in mind, anyway." The mischievous smile on her face said it all, really.

* * *

><p>The first sign that a certain opportunity had come around happened right before Nestor's disbelieving eyes. He looked up upon hearing a strange whirling noise, distant and yet striking, muck up the calm muteness of the night. There was a burst of disorganized activity on the lead ship in the fleet as Vikings ran around its deck trying to uncover the source of the sound. Following that was a creak and a groan and a splintering cascade of wood grinding against wood as the top half of the boat's mast plummeted into the sea, rocking the boat as it splashed its occupants with freezing droplets.<p>

The chaos that followed was delicious. Frantic yells resounded from the wounded ship, prompting the Vikings on Nestor's boat to flock to the port side, causing the boat to list slightly. The helmsmen maneuvered near the stricken vessel in an effort to bring aid, hurried voices asking lots of unanswerable questions. The guards on Nestor had their attention diverted for now, though one attentive Gunnarr kept right on glaring at Nestor as if he'd somehow caused this.

The Seer held her position, staring at Nestor. Wondering what hand she had in the accident, he stared back. That was how he saw her nod her head upward ever so slightly, drawing his attention to the heavens. He looked up and caught the wispy outline of a winged creature flying above the boat, barreling past without a single flutter or flap.

_Toothless,_ he thought, not bothering to question the hows or whys of the situation. _Window of opportunity, here I come_.

Rolling the dice, he pulled his hands free of the unlocked manacles and regained his feet. Predictably, the one vigilant guard saw him and yelled out a warning while he raised his club and brought it down on Nestor. His cry joined the myriad others and was ignored, his club crashing down on Nestor's shielded right arm, his barrier bouncing it off. Nestor's left fist found the Viking's chest and knocked him hard into the railing, keeling over and clutching his chest in pain.

That got the rest of the crew's attention. They turned toward him, their faces a sorry mix of panic, surprise, and mounting rage. With the stern empty of Gunnarr due to the commotion, Nestor backed off in that direction, his arms glowing threateningly. The Seer led the pack, her hands on her weapons but not drawing them out of their hilts. In no rush to take him on after today's display of melee savvy, the pack of surly Vikings bunched up behind the Seer as she slowly advanced. Nestor was sure she was delaying them, keeping them from rushing him as a group.

_Always one step ahead of disaster, _he thought. _Hiccup, you better do something now_.

Exposed on the rear of the narrow ship, he had nowhere to go but into the sea. His only other choice was to start pounding on the Vikings, which wouldn't do him much good in the long run. The Seer stopped a few feet from him, corralling the other warriors behind her. They wanted her to make the first move. They had yet to deduce her real intentions, but once they did…

A swooping mechanical sound erupted from behind Nestor, a noise he didn't have time to identify before something heavy and ropey wrapped around him at chest level, his barrier firing to protect him as the impact bowled him forward briefly. His arms now pinned to his sides, his first thought was that a bola launcher had ambushed him from one of the other ships. Then he saw the tethering rope rapidly flying past him and tightening, and he then knew what had ensnared him.

Just before he was jerked into the air by the imprisoning rope, the Seer rushed him right as he felt the rope go taut. She grabbed him at the knees, hugging them for dear life as she, too, was lifted into the sky.

He felt yet another jarring impact as the rope rewound all the way and shoved him against the launcher, his barrier mitigating the force of the collision. Then he was whisked away with the Seer dangling beneath him, astonished eyes from the boats watching him and the Seer depart, the frigid wind numbing his skin as the longboats shrank into the distance.

* * *

><p>Hiccup laughed despite himself as Toothless climbed back into the clouds. It was quite the steal, considering that this marked the first successful use of his grapple launcher, the target had been man-sized, and it was pretty dark. Nestor's glowing barrier helped light up the target, though, and Toothless had apparently learned how to assist Hiccup with the aiming. As well, Nestor getting loose of his chains at the right moment was no small achievement.<p>

The Gunnarr had expected a dragon attack to involve fireballs and flames, not a whirling axe that boomeranged back to its thrower or mechanized net launchers. The Gunnarr might eventually figure out who had been involved, but they wouldn't come to that conclusion quickly.

"That worked out great," said Hiccup, patting Toothless for a job well done. "I can't think of how it might have gone better."

"I can," said Astrid, leaning over and gazing down below them with an incredulous stare. "We're plus two, Hiccup."

Hiccup leaned over to see what she was getting at. Nestor was wrapped up in netting and tethered to the launcher, safe for the moment, but the Seer was dangling from Nestor's knees in a not-so-safe fashion.

Hiccup looked back at Astrid, shaking his head in disbelief. "How does she do that?" he remarked.

Nestor was thinking the same thing as he regarded the Seer with perplexed eyes, unable to do anything while he remained tangled up and reeled in. She had her eyes shut and gripped his legs so tight that he was losing circulation.

"Did you know that was going to happen?" he yelled to her. Her response was to hug his legs even tighter.

"Not a fan of heights, huh?" he added.

"Not a fan of falling," she clarified.

"Mind explaining yourself?"

"I will explain myself… if we can find a safer place to do so than hundreds of feet in the air," she insisted.

"Toothless?" yelled Nestor, the dragon ducking his head down and giving him a quizzical look. "Tell Hiccup we need a place to land, and soon."

After putting some distance between themselves and the Gunnarr fleet, Toothless happened upon a tiny island that was little more than a few dozen square feet of pebbly sand struggling to stay above the oppressive tide. The Seer gratefully released Nestor and walked away to rest her cramped arms as Toothless touched down gently so not to crush Nestor under his bulk. It took time to get Nestor free of the netting, but soon Nestor was shaking Hiccup and Astrid's hands and giving the dragon a scratch on the chin.

"I honestly thought that was it for me," he told them. "I owe you."

"No, I think you're still up one," said Hiccup.

"Wouldn't try that on anyone else, though," said Nestor. "Even with just the net, that thing packs a wallop."

"Yeah, but I figured you could take it," said Hiccup. "Beats taking on an army of Gunnarr, doesn't it?"

Nestor nodded, but then frowned as he considered the ramifications of what just happened. "How much trouble are you guys in for doing this?"

"We'll worry about that later," said Astrid. "Right now, we need some answers." She gestured at the Seer, who had her attention on the clouded northern horizon. She didn't face them when they came up behind her, the horizon either more interesting or less intimidating.

"What do you wish to know?" she said.

"Where to start?" said Hiccup. "Calling you erratic is an insult to erratic people. What gives?"

"What he said," said Nestor.

The Seer sighed and turned, displaying a weary and yet serene expression. She was in no way troubled by her tenuous circumstances, despite the fact that they could easily maroon her on the island if they wished to.

"I did see your rescue attempt ahead of time, but only after we boarded for our homeland," she began. She pointed off to a fog-like cloudbank to the north. "My visions of the future are like looking through that cloudbank – they start off murky, then become clearer as the future approaches. Many of my visions show possibilities that never come to be because of actions taken or not taken. Thus, I am not as reliable as many believe."

"What's that got to do with anything?" said Astrid.

"Plenty, I fear. Two months ago, a man walked into our settlement wearing nothing but bones and rags." She looked directly at Nestor. "You know of this man, I believe." Nestor nodded and prompted the Seer to continue. "This man, if he is such a thing, asked to see Chief Stonefist. Normally the Chief sees no outsider, but for some reason Stonefist agreed to the meeting. I was present at the time, so I know what was said. This man, the Necromancer, offered Stonefist a deal. He knew that Stonefist feared the rising power of Berk and its dragons, so the Necromancer claimed he would remove the threat of Berk and allow our people to flourish as before. In exchange, we were to work for him in any capacity he needed - as warriors, as workers, as scouts. He wanted the Isle of Frost guarded in particular."

"Isle of Frost?" asked Nestor.

"It's a giant iceberg many miles north of here," explained Hiccup. "Never been there, not even sure where it is. Nothing but ice and frostbite, from what I hear."

"For us, it has more significance," countered the Seer. "Our people use it as a training ground. It hardens us, teaches us to embrace hardship and ignore discomfort. The Necromancer knew of our sacred ties to that place. He knew a lot about us, it seemed. He gave us few assurances that he could achieve what he promised, but he gave Stonefist only a day to contemplate his decision. Otherwise, he'd move on to more willing clans that would benefit from his protection.

"That night, I dreamt of many lands on fire. My land, your land, lands I have never seen and may never see… all aflame, as if the world itself had caught fire. The destruction was vast and complete, but what stayed with me was the color of the flames that scorched all lands. They were black, as black as the space between the stars."

Hiccup groaned anew. "Why is always death and destruction? Are there never any visions of lambs frolicking or a spontaneous outbreak of poppies?"

"May I continue?" scolded the Seer, silencing Hiccup. "I told Stonefist this, told him of my fear that to make a deal with the Necromancer was to invite this destruction. But he didn't listen. My dreams are sometimes… metaphorical, composed of imagery and symbol instead of reality. As such, he dismissed my warning and instead took the opposite meaning from them. Dragon fire was the source of this destruction, he told me. What else could cause such a conflagration? Thus, the dragons of Berk had to be stopped. Berk had to be stopped. He agreed to the Necromancer's deal the next day."

"He's actually working with Cervantes?" said Nestor, who hadn't worked out the connection until now. "That's insanity!"

"So I thought, too," said the Seer. "Such blatant deviltry. It was so obvious that many of our people threatened Stonefist with open defiance. But he appealed to their loyalty, told them that the greater threat was the dragons that were poised to one day strike at our people. He used that fear to sway their opinion. I went along with it for the sake of clan unity, but I was never okay with it. The visions of the Great Black Fire returned to me on several occasions, though never with any further illumination. I could not dissuade my people from their course, not without more certainty."

"But we don't have any reason to attack the Gunnarr," defended Hiccup. "Why would Stonefist think that?"

"We're warriors, Dragon Rider," she said. "Assuming the worst in those around you is what keeps you alive, prepared. But it can also blind you to your own actions. So it is with my people. Many of us set up camp on the Isle of Frost, guarding it for some unknown reason. The rest of us were free to do as we pleased, though some decided to test the resolve of Berk by picking fights with your ships."

"What about the summit?" asked Astrid. "Was that even a serious attempt at peace?"

"I wish I could say yes," the Seer said, "but it was mostly a delaying tactic. Stonefist didn't want to start a war before the Necromancer had found what he was after, but he believed a war was inevitable. Our people see compromise and retreat as failures. Opponents are defeated, not parlayed with."

"So you decided to play along by trying to kill me?" asked Nestor, narrowing his eyes. "How does that work?"

"I do not 'play along,' Outlander," she corrected, staring back at him. "Just before I came to Berk, I had another vision of the Great Black Fire, but this time two names came to me at the end. The emotion behind these two names was different than the rest of the vision. I saw those names… and I felt hope. I knew that the people who wore these names were the ones who might stop the disaster from occurring, but I had to find them first." The Seer gave Hiccup a knowing look, as if she knew some deep secret about him that Hiccup didn't even know. "You were obvious, Dragon Rider. I had to be sure you were still motivated to do what must be done and not content to sit back and enjoy your laurels, but you were never much of a mystery."

"I guess that's a good thing," Hiccup said. "Also, what are laurels and how do you enjoy them?"

She ignored him and stared at Nestor once more. "You… were a different matter, Outlander. A stranger with power, that's all I knew of you. It didn't exactly make you easy to find. Thankfully, I received a later vision that helped my search, though the timing of it was not welcome."

"It was that vision you had during our sparring, wasn't it?" said Astrid.

"Yes, and it told me what I needed to know. The Outlander, the one I needed to find, would be the one who could defeat me… but who could not kill me."

An _ah-ha_ moment sang through Nestor's head. "_That's_ why you forced me to fight you… to try to kill you. That's… a bit crazy, don't you think?"

"Crazy?" she said. "Perhaps it was. But I had to be certain. Too much is at stake for doubt to exist. To be honest, I didn't think it was possible. For my clan, defeat and death is the same thing. I didn't believe that any warrior that could best me would let me live, but I trusted my vision not to lead me astray."

"And if you were wrong and I had killed you?" said Nestor.

She shrugged. "Then I would have been wrong."

Nestor shrugged as well. "I honestly can't fight the logic."

"So the whole disaster-follows-in-his-wake part of the vision…" started Hiccup.

"An exaggeration," the Seer admitted.

"You lied," stated Astrid.

"As you wish. It was the only way to convince my people, and yours, to help me locate the Outlander."

"I do have a name," said Nestor. "I don't go by Outlander."

"Don't bother arguing," said Hiccup. "Trust me, she only does titles."

"_Salo krebit_, fine," conceded Nestor. "So we're all here with you. Now what?"

She went back to somberly staring out at the horizon, as if she was witnessing a dark future in progress. "Now I will take you to the Isle of Frost. Now I will help you against the Necromancer… and my own people."

"You're helping us?" asked Astrid, amazed. So were Hiccup and Nestor. "Are you serious?"

"As serious as is humanely possible," said the Seer. "The objects that the Necromancer desires are in Stonefist's ship, and it is headed for the Isle of Frost. That is where the Necromancer makes his home. The boat is several hours ahead of us, but your dragon can fly far faster. We may still get there ahead of him."

"So you're okay with fighting your own people?" said Astrid.

"In order to save them, yes," affirmed the Seer. "I ask that you do your best not to harm them, though. They are my people… even though I doubt they will forgive me when this is over." She could no longer hide the fear in her eyes, her Seer mask all but gone and leaving behind the face of someone who seemed almost human.

"Minor detail," said Hiccup, "but how many Gunnarr are we talking about?"

"One full raiding party," she answered. "About one hundred and twenty warriors." She said it very matter-of-factly, and she was surprised by the panicked stares she got in response. "Not including the warriors arriving with Stonefist."

"The five of us against how many again?" said Astrid. "Hiccup, I like tough fights but that's a little much. We should go back and get help."

"It took us hours to get out here, Astrid," said Hiccup. "We don't have the time."

"We don't," said Nestor. "Cervantes will have the powercore by then."

"My people are scattered across the island," said the Seer. "It is doubtful that we will face them all at once. I may be able to talk some of them into cooperating, though we should not gamble our future on that hope."

The others exchanged worried and wary glances. None of them had expected anything like this, heading off into a battle against overwhelming odds. But not a single one of them voiced a word of refusal. Even Toothless showed his resolve by standing next to Hiccup, poised to fly off to the north.

"If Cervantes is there, Arc might be there too," said Nestor, his tone hopeful. "I say we do what she says."

"Not trying to bring up a sore point, but she did try to kill you," said Hiccup. "You okay with that?"

"It… is a sore point," said Nestor, "but if she can be pragmatic, so can I."

"I agree," said Astrid. "I just hope you know what you're doing, Seer."

"You and me both," said the Seer. It was not a comforting statement.

"So we fly to a frost-covered island, rescue Arc, retrieve the powercore, all the while fighting some of the meanest Vikings in existence and the world's worst death mage," stated Hiccup unhappily. Then he shrugged with an _oh-well_ half-smile on his lips. "Let's get it over with."

Hiccup needed to make a few adjustments to the grapple launcher first before they left. While Nestor assisted him, Astrid and the Seer stood quietly next to each other. The Seer preferred to gaze out on the still waters and might have gone on doing so had Astrid not decided to speak up and get something off her chest.

"So where do I fit into all this?" she asked.

"You're asking if you were part of my plans?" said the Seer, looking at Astrid. "I had no vision concerning you, if that matters."

"So our sparring was just, what, exercise? I was just a convenient tool while you went about pulling everyone's strings?" Her tone was hostile, the anger unmistakable.

The Seer seemed to expect such a response, but it was hard to miss the remorse in her expression. "I understand your anger, Astrid. For what it's worth, I did enjoy our sparring. It's rare for me to find someone I can be friends with."

"Friendship requires trust, Seer," replied Astrid. "We don't have that."

"I suppose not." The Seer looked away again, thinking the conversation was over. Astrid thought so as well. She couldn't really trust her; what else could be said? She did believe the Seer about her willingness to oppose her people, but how far she would take it remained to be seen. Someone as guarded and erratic as the Seer was not someone to turn your back on.

Astrid decided right then to stick by the Seer's side for now, to make sure the Seer was earnest in her desire to do what was necessary… and to punish her if she had another betrayal in store for them.


	16. A Young Brat On A Damaged Dragon

**Author's Tired Note:** Okay, next chapter is _definitely _going to be shorter.

Here's where we stand (and if you're reading this after, say, September 2011, feel free to skip ahead):

We are in the home stretch with three, possibly four chapters left in the story. However, I am now rubbing up against my chapter-a-week self-imposed deadline. I just barely got this one done in time. I write, I edit, I re-edit, I release, and then I move onto the next chapter. To keep things flowing, I haven't been doing what I normally do with my writing, which is let it sit a bit, edit, have someone else read it, then re-edit it and release. I've cut out the middle man (and hopefully it doesn't show too much). Again, it's not how I normally approach writing, but this story's been in my head so much that it's practically writing itself.

But due to fatigue (it takes a lot of time to write this out and check it twice) and life's little events, plus the fact that I've been making the chapters bigger (tying up plot and character points without rushing things), the head start I gave myself had evaporated. The other factor I have to consider is that I've had a fairly light summer in terms of work, but hopefully that will change in the next two weeks with the public schools back in session. If I'm lucky, I'll actually get a job that I've been after, but that'll mean less time to write. This story... this _book_ won't be done before that happens... if it happens.

So next chapter should show up at its regular time (Fridays at 8am, California time). I should know more about my work situation by then, so I'll inform all you loyal readers about how I'm handling the finale. Don't worry, it _will_ come to pass. But I'm not going to rush it, and if need be I will delay it. You'll know more next week.

Onwards.

**Chapter Fifteen: A Young Brat On A Damaged Dragon **

The snow dome was a haven for curves in a land of sharp edges, unnaturally smooth and uniform. It was more solid underfoot that the rest of the island, with precious little give to its icy contours. It was the heart of the island, off-limits to all save Cervantes. Not that he feared idle minds discovering its hidden qualities, but he did fear their potential for getting in the way.

The necromancer stood on the top of the dome, watching several distant specks on the ocean slowly make their way towards the island, his pale, stretched skin barely registering the frost beneath his feet or the bite of the air. Despite his plan's success, he felt little pleasure in it. Recovering the Monolith was a far more complicated and odious affair than he had anticipated. Of course, he was nowhere near finished. Even after taking control of the Monolith, he still had a long way to go. There were examples to be made, civilizations to quell, and a world to preserve. Work, work, work - the thought made his sore back throb. The long campaign had drained him of too much time and energy. He didn't have much left of himself now, so much of him wasted against Archibald. Thank the Void for the Gunnarr. Bringing them into the fray had been his smartest move yet. He even planned on honoring their agreement and using Berk as a proving ground for the Monolith's power. There was no point in betraying Stonefist... not yet, anyway.

Archibald needed to be dealt with, though. Cervantes had resisted offing the irksome dragon until he had the desired artifacts in his cold little hands. It would have been a moronic move to kill an accessible source of information. But his skull servant had seen the objects in person, was watching over them right now. There was no need to delay things further, but he could do a little gloating first. Being practical all the time was no fun whatsoever, and Archibald had earned the right to be tormented after all those years of relentless pursuit.

One of the ice formations resting against the snow dome held a secret residing within a hole wide enough to shove a human hand into. Cervantes did just that, retrieving the precious object within and stuffing it under his belt, between a skeletal monkey's paw and his favorite corrupted femur. Its omnipresent glow would be distracting to all those who saw it, but that was okay. The object's allure had long since worn off for Cervantes; distraction served to undermine all others.

Yes, Archibald would take one look at the item in his possession and despair. At that moment, he'd realize he never had a chance at all.

* * *

><p>"<em>Salo krebit<em>, I thought Berk was nippy," complained Nestor, his arms wrapped around his chest as he shivered, ineffectually trying to keep himself warm while his breath misted in front of him. "We _really_ should've brought some warmer clothes."

"I didn't expect to be doing battle on an iceberg, okay?" replied Hiccup, hugging himself as well. His choice of clothes for his previous plan had proven a bad choice for this newest one. Not only did they do nothing for the chill, but they stood out on the ice like a rotting tooth in a pearly-white mouth.

Astrid shivered, her cloaked wrapped tightly around her body. Toothless shivered, even though he periodically blew out a tiny fireball under his belly to warm the air around him. The Seer… didn't shiver, kneeling behind a mound of ice without so much as a tremor. Exactly how she could stand the chill when she clearly didn't have an ounce of fat on her baffled Hiccup, but bafflement and the Seer went together like barmaids and beverages.

The weather was staying kind, the storm clouds way off to the west and the wind blocked by the snow ridges further north. The Seer had led them behind some waist-high walls of snow overlooking a field of smiling crevices and shiny patches of treacherous ice. Toothless hunkered down as best he could, but he still stuck out over the top of the wall. The launcher he carried on his belly prevented him from kneeling down all the way. Thankfully, the Gunnarr positions were still miles away, the figures moving about like bed bugs on a wool blanket. Most were camped out in large clusters of makeshift tents or patrolling aimlessly. Their cylindrical war machines, which Hiccup recognized as larger versions of his bola launcher, were lined up in twin columns of four that faced opposite directions, their crews ambling about nearby.

They had managed to squeeze everyone onto Toothless to get to the island, but the cramped ride had made for sore bottoms and sorer moods. And now here they were, shivering, sleep deprived, some dried mutton that Hiccup had thought to bring along the only food in their stomachs, and, oh yes, hopelessly outnumbered on a frozen rock. It was enough to make Hiccup start yearning for the good ol' days when all he had to worry about was public ridicule.

"I think I've found Arc," said Astrid, motioning at a spot not far from the weapon emplacements. Difficult to see from a distance, Nestor and the others eventually saw the cage-like structure that housed a dragonoid creature, several figures surrounding it.

"Arc," Nestor repeated, concern dripping from his voice. "He must be alive if they have him caged. I need to…"

"You need to wait," ordered the Seer. "They'll have sentries armed with signal horns hidden in the crevices." She referred to the cavernous openings scattered among the jutting hills and smooth clearings. "There is a boat landing not far from here. That is where Stonefist will arrive. I can get us past the sentries on foot, though your dragon is too large to sneak by. He'll have to stay here."

"Leave him here?" said Hiccup.

"My people are prepared for a dragon assault, Dragon Rider," said the Seer. "Your Night Fury serves us best by staying clear of this."

"Are you kidding?" replied Hiccup. "Unless you plan on taking on a hundred Vikings all by yourself, I'm pretty sure we're going to need him. We're not leaving him behind." The dragon growled affirmatively, seconding the motion.

"We won't," agreed Astrid, heading off the Seer's rebuttal and any arguments that they didn't need to have, "but she's right about one thing. He can't just fly in there."

"Well, the only thing that could touch him are those bola launchers," said Hiccup. "If we could disable those things…"

"Or distract them," suggested Nestor.

"You got something in mind?" said Hiccup.

"Maybe," said Nestor. "I don't need the Seer's help to get to Arc, now that I can Shroud. At the same time, freeing Arc will cause a pretty big distraction that might divert troops away from the boat landing, as well as turn those launchers my way."

"And away from us," said Hiccup. "Then Toothless and I can take out the launchers from behind. I like your thinking."

Nestor cocked his head at the Seer. "Does that work for you?"

"Not a terrible idea, Outlander," she reluctantly admitted. "Fewer warriors will make my job easier."

"I'll should go with you," Astrid told her.

"Not necessary," replied the Seer, looking at Astrid skeptically.

"I think it is," insisted Astrid. "You'll need backup if you can't talk your chief into seeing things your way." She didn't add the part about not entirely trusting the Seer.

The Seer had to admit the possibility existed. "Very well, but you must do exactly as I say and let me do the talking. My people do not suffer outsiders well."

"We'll buy you the time you need," said Nestor. "Then we'll come get you two and head back to Berk. Whatever else happens, the powercore _has_ to leave this island."

Shortly afterwards, Nestor Shrouded and took off down the icy hill, saying to watch for his signal as it would be "very obvious." The Seer and Astrid were making to run off as well when Hiccup pulled Astrid aside, leaving the Seer waiting impatiently nearby.

"Be careful," said Hiccup. "You know what the Gunnarr are like."

"Yes, but now they're going to know what _I'm_ like," replied Astrid, smiling confidently. "Besides, you'll have more to worry about than me."

"As usual," he joked.

Astrid gave him a quick peck on the cheek before running off with the Seer across the frozen wastes. As confident as she acted, Hiccup couldn't help but fear for her, fear for them all. They were in over their heads, swimming in monster-filled waters, and unless they found the shore soon, somebody was going to drown… or get eaten.

* * *

><p>One of the burlier specimens in the Gunnarr clan, the guard Nestor designated as Victim Number One packed on enough tonnage to equal twenty Hiccups. The five other men who sat around the sleeping dragon were much like him, sitting on holey fur blankets and worrying more about their fingers falling off than the security of their prisoner. Flecks of frost hung in their hair and beards and their eyes drooped as fatigue and boredom nibbled at them.<p>

The guard didn't stir, didn't even register the furtive crunches on the snow behind him as the faint, man-shaped distortion snuck up on him and cold cocked him on the head. The guard briefly wondered why the stars were coming out so early before he fell over, Nestor catching him and gently, quietly, lowering him to the ice.

Nestor stifled a complaint as he rubbed his right hand, feeling the pain for attacking the Viking without more field protection. The downside to Shrouding was that he had to keep his field uniform across his body or else he became visible. Sucker punching the Gunnarr's head had been like sucker punching granite. But the takedown gave him satisfaction, and after seeing Arc's condition up close he was more than happy to do it again and again.

Arc breathed steadily – that was all Nestor could figure right now. The cage cruelly bound him to the ice, his scales glistening with hardened moisture. The dragon didn't move a muscle, his eyes shut tight and his ears and nose almost frosted over. Nestor could barely contain his rage at his mentor's treatment, filled with an overwhelming desire to go to him, to wake him up and free him, but he had to remove some more Gunnarr-shaped obstacles first. They had spread themselves out around the cage, which made individual takedowns easier.

Two more Gunnarr met the same fate as the first, and Nestor was moving onto the fourth, confidently expecting similar results, when something brittle broke under his feet. Nestor looked down and spotted discarded fowl bones half-buried in the snow. The guard's previous meal mostly likely, the cold had rendered them fragile. The noise snapped the half-asleep guard out of his stupor, jumping to his feet and whirling around before Nestor could take another step. His sword at the ready, the guard stood baffled by the weirdly transparent thing before him. Nestor socked him alongside the head and staggered him… but not before the guard cried out.

Sprinting past the collapsing guard, Nestor charged at the remaining two warriors, hoping to get them before they fully roused themselves. He had to credit the Gunnarr on their training, because they were up and armed before he could get halfway there. Nestor dropped the Shroud to increase his speed, barreling into the first guard and launching him skidding across the ice. But the second one had a curved signal horn in his hands, and it was already at his lips and producing a low warble to the nearby encampment. The bellow lasted only two seconds, the exact time it took Nestor to rip the horn away and toss it into a convenient crevice. The guard lasted five more seconds before his consciousness took a holiday on Nestor's behalf.

"Nestor?"

Arc's strained voice almost made Nestor weep. Dropping the last guard in the snow, he ran back to the front of the cage and found Arc awake, his eyes at half-mast but focused on Nestor. Disbelief swam in those reptilian eyes, as if he was staring at a delusion made manifest.

With precious little time remaining before more Gunnarr arrived, Nestor knelt down before Arc and gently rubbed away the clinging frost from Arc's face. The dragon slowly began to accept Nestor's presence as not imaginary, a flood of relief warming his body and making him flex his frozen joints.

"You really are here," said Arc.

"I'm here, old man," Nestor said tenderly, clearing the last of the ice off Arc's snout. "Brought help, too."

For a moment, Arc looked like he wanted to say something deep and personal, his gaze full of emotion. Just as quickly, the dragon switched to a teasing smirk and said, "Took you long enough."

Nestor laughed. Same ol' Arc – that was a good sign. "Had to stop and ask for directions." He tested the strength of one of the cage's bone-bars around Arc's neck and found it extremely solid. "Better model than last time. This might take a while."

Arc perked up at the chorus of war cries and swearing approaching from behind them. "From the sounds of it, we don't have a while. This cage must have a conduit holding it together. Look for an irregular bone."

"They're _all_ irregular," replied Nestor, searching up and down the cage for a section that screamed out _I'm important_. Nothing did so. As the angry crowd of Vikings grew louder and closer, Nestor circled Arc's cage once, twice, three times in search of the elusive conduit bone. He punched one large bone-bar at full strength, cracking it in two but not jarring it loose. He might eventually crack the cage open with adequate pounding, but it would take minutes he didn't have.

"They're nearly here, Nestor," warned Arc, shoving his cramped body against the cage in a failing effort to dislodge it from the ice. "There are _lots!_ Get clear."

"I didn't come all this way to go back without you, old man," declared Nestor, cracking another bone-bar around Arc's left wing. It crunched and spat splinters and a flurry of black sparks into the air. That's when he noticed a slight flash of ebony luminance from a chewed-up leg bone scrunching Arc's spine. It had reacted to the damage, a clear sign of a conduit at work.

To the east, dozens of Vikings in dark fur battle uniforms came charging up a narrow pathway between two steep crevices, every one of them armed and dangerous. Another smaller group was flanking from the west, encircling them and cutting off escape. Some of them produced bows and readied arrows while others ran ahead, daring to believe they might reach the dragon and kill him before the interloper freed him.

Nestor blanched at the sight of all those warriors. His field hadn't recharged much since his fight with the Seer and he sure as _krebit_ couldn't handle them all. With only seconds to spare, he channeled power to his legs and jumped upon Arc's back, the dragon shaking as he tried to free himself. Nestor then focused all his power into his right arm, gripped the chewed-up leg bone, and pulled with everything he had. The bone fought him, clung to its connected brethren like it was nailed on, but second by second the connections snapped and sparked and tore away, ending in a shower of flying debris and black fire as the bone shattered from the strain in Nestor's hands.

There was a second, far-greater shower of debris as Arc exploded out of the cage an instant later, peppering the approaching Vikings with fragments of frosted bone and halting their charge. Nestor ungracefully dropped to the ice as Arc stood up to his full height, unkinking his sore limbs and spreading his wings out like a great leathery sail, making him look almost twice his normal size. He cleared the remains of the cage and took a few aggressive steps toward the Viking horde, glaring murderously and showing off his wicked teeth.

Nestor was at his back immediately, facing down the other half of the Gunnarr army. Despite Arc's intimidation tactics, the Vikings held their position and their weapons steady. Their faces weren't as enraged, more akin now to people staring down an oncoming tidal wave, but they weren't going to retreat. Defeat and Death, the Seer had told him.

Stupid Gunnarr.

"Quick reminder that we're not supposed to hurt them too badly," mentioned Nestor.

"Really?" said Arc. "Why?"

"Just don't. It's a favor to an ally."

Arc grunt his displeasure, which also counted as agreement. "How many Vikings do you think there are?"

Nestor shrugged. "Five, maybe six dozen."

Arc's mouth formed a deadly grin, which somehow managed to look more terrible than his previous expression. "Not enough."

* * *

><p>The fleet arriving from Berk had landed minutes ago, a column of tired men walking toward the main base camp in the middle of the island. A smaller base camp served as a waypoint and guard post, with over four-dozen warriors in residence. Only a few were actively on watch, standing on raised snow embankments at the corners of the camp.<p>

Astrid and The Seer hid inside a crevice not far away, the Seer peeking over the top with one eye while Astrid sat on her knees and pulled her cloak a little tighter. She was used to the general lack of warmth in her life, but this was a bit much. The heat of her body movements was the one thing keeping her from icing over. Standing still was like standing in a frozen grave.

The Seer wanted the ranks of the guards to thin before going in, but they didn't have much time before Stonefist's column arrived. Astrid had to trust that Nestor and Hiccup could cause a big enough ruckus to attract attention, because otherwise they were either about to take on lots of guards… or _lots_ and _lots_ of guards.

"Your people like this place?" she asked, mostly to distract herself from both the marrow-freezing chill.

"It is sacred," said the Seer, her eye never wavering from its sentry duty, "but _like_ is too strong a word."

"Toughens you up, right?"

"Yes. _Our spirits should be as cold as the ice we walk upon._ That is our ancient mantra. We use it to form barriers against pain and loss. I stayed here once for three months, my cloak my one source of heat, my only nourishment what I could catch from the ocean. I was the first woman in my clan to undertake the ordeal… and survive it."

"Sounds… terrible, actually."

The Seer broke off her surveillance and looked at Astrid as if she'd just been insulted. "Terrible? I learned who I was here. My first vision came to me as I lay in the snow, consumed by dreams of heat and shelter. I saw an image of two shapely daggers buried in a snow bank, beckoning me to free them. That is how I found these." She patted the twin daggers on her belt. "That is how I knew I was truly the Seer, not a pretender within the bloodline. My ordeal taught me to bury my weaknesses, my desires. It taught me to be a true warrior."

"Not long ago, I might have wanted that myself," said Astrid. "I tried to do the same thing, to shut off my feelings so I could be a great dragon-killing warrior. Now I look back and think how empty my life was. I think about all the things I missed out on, the people I could've spent more time with."

The Seer chuffed at her and went back to her surveillance. "An invitation for disaster."

"Why?" shot back Astrid, shifting her legs to keep them from going numb.

"I believe the term your people use is _occupational hazard_."

"So no friends, no anything, because they might die?"

"It sounds like a good reason to me."

"Still sounds terrible."

The Seer looked at her again, but this time she didn't seem insulted. "My people put stock in sacrifice, in giving yourself up for something more important. We give up much for the sake of our people… I've given up much… but it's what keeps us strong… though…"

"What?" asked Astrid.

"I've seen your people up close now, watching the joy on their faces as they ride across the sky. I've witnessed you risk your life for a boy who wouldn't have survived five winters in our clan. I was spared by a man who would lose everything if he did not kill me, yet he still chose not to. It would seem that strength and happiness are not mutually exclusive, that strength comes in many forms, and that I still have much to learn about it."

More cracks in the Seer's hard persona. An improvement. Astrid wasn't ready to give the Seer a pass on her previous record of obfuscations, but it was a positive sign nonetheless.

Her thoughts trailed off as the sound of echoing thunder reached their ears, accompanied by distant battle cries and screams. The Seer looked out once more and nodded her head approvingly. Astrid chanced a peek and saw the Gunnarr warriors meeting and conversing at the center of the camp, their voices growing more urgent as the din of battle continued. A minute later, over half the warriors formed a column and raced off to reinforce their comrades, leaving the rest scattered around the camp.

"The numbers should be manageable now," said the Seer, drawing her daggers and tensing her legs. "Follow my lead. If things should come to blows, disarm and incapacitate only."

Astrid nodded, grabbing her axe and mentally preparing herself with two quick prayers to Odin, one for a quick victory or a quick death… and the other to give the Seer the strength she needed to prevent a fight altogether.

* * *

><p>While his men at the weapon emplacements were hurriedly shoving their bola launchers around to face the escaping green dragon, the wizened Gunnarr field commander watched the ensuing battle, transfixed on the spectacle. He couldn't fire the massive bolas without hitting his own men, but he did have the best view available for spectating.<p>

Thor himself couldn't have unleashed as much heavenly lightning as the dragon discharged at the rushing throng of Gunnarr. Men leapt into the air or jiggled in place as bolt after bolt found a warm body to strike. Warrior after warrior fell to the ground as their legs buckled and gave out. The dragon kept the voltage low to prevent fatalities, though it didn't stop it from hurting.

A group of seven warriors rushed him all at once. All seven flew backward as an electrical charge rocketed between them and shocked their systems. A pack of archers lobbed a volley of arrows right at him, only to have their arrows break apart in midair as a web of lightning erupted from the dragon's left claw-hand and smote them. They also received a jumping blast of lightning, knocking them down. Yet another group used their interlocking shields to form a shield wall and advanced as a line, thinking to block the dragon's lightning as they would any other dragon's fire attack. The conductive metal in their shields proved this idea faulty, and they dropped like dominoes.

The Vikings attacking the dragon's flank and rear fared no better. The young man with the shining glow repelled every attack, sending Vikings sailing through the air as he grabbed a limb and tossed them or smacked them a powerful blow. Many times he deliberately stepped in front of an arrow or throwing axe meant for the dragon, and every time the projectile bounced off him or broke against his magic. Hammer, club, and sword came down on him, but the only one to get hurt was the weapon's wielder.

The fallen Gunnarr rose to their feet as best they could, determined to win the day through persistence and sacrifice. But back at the weapon emplacements, the field commander could see the direction the battle was going. If he didn't act, there soon wouldn't be any buffer between him and the terrifying dual threat. He ordered his men to open fire on the dragon, heedless of the collateral damage. His men obeyed and manned their launchers, loading the ammo and taking aim.

Then one of the launchers spontaneously exploded… and another one… and another…

The black dragon, the one whose species still struck fear into the hearts and minds of most non-Berkian Vikings, soared above the emplacements like a bird of prey. It spat blue death as it went, the launchers cracking and spraying flaming wood and superheated steel as the fireballs contacted them. The crews screamed and fled for their lives as their weapons quickly disintegrated, melting the snow below them and forming puddles that froze within seconds, trapping the debris in its icy embrace.

The commander stood and watched, dumbfounded, as his artillery section was annihilated in seconds, his men running from the battle like frightened sheep. But the commander stood his ground and yelled out a defiant curse to the black dragon. Death and Defeat was the same thing – the Gunnarr way. He would not dishonor his people with cowardice. The dragon would have to…

The dragon made a second pass and fired an exploding projectile right in front of him, urging him on his way. The heat pierced his skin and drove an instinctive urge through his honor-bound brain: to flee from a fire. So he did, joining his men as they ran for their ships. It didn't matter that he would have to explain to Stonefist how he abandoned his post. The fool who came up with Death and Defeat had never been on the receiving end of a Night Fury's flames.

* * *

><p>"Next time, steal someone else's plans!" yelled out Hiccup to the fleeing Gunnarr, though it was unlikely that they heard him. Too busy running for their lives and everything.<p>

Toothless swept over the launchers one last time and plinked another bolt of blue flame into the last intact launcher, blasting it apart. There was no need for it, the crews having fled in terror, but Hiccup sensed that his bud _really _didn't like those weapons. He'd been all too eager to destroy them, Hiccup having to restrain him until the launchers had repositioned themselves toward Arc and Nestor.

Zero casualties. Good. Another fine example of Toothless's pinpoint accuracy. He thought about aiding Nestor and Arc, but they were handing the Gunnarr their rears and didn't really need his help. He then thought about aiding Astrid and the Seer, but Toothless's presence might make things harder for the Seer if she actually succeeded in talking down Stonefist.

Then the Gods gave him something to do, in the form of an old man improperly dressed for the Artic Circle. Some distance away, near the beginning of a carved trail cut through a wall of stone-dense snow, was Cervantes, rooted to the spot as he watched Arc unleash a hurricane on his allies. Cervantes, in the flesh… assuming he actually had any left on that body of his.

The necromancer then fled back up the trail and toward the dome at the heart of the island, remaining unaware of the shadow that tailed him from above.

* * *

><p>Stonefist led the column of fifty-plus warriors over several rugged ridgelines and up to the guard post, his son stubbornly limping two steps behind him and carrying the wicker basket with the deviltry items. Despite his injuries, Cragfist wished to be present for the final part of their deal. Cragfist's desire to see Berk wiped off the face of the planet was public knowledge, his simmering rage practically a permanent feature now.<p>

Stonefist shared his son's fear, but not his animosity. He honestly regretted this course of action, but Berk was too grave a threat to let be. The Berkians refused to act like true Norse, and that endangered all Vikings everywhere, not just the Gunnarr. But his people were not dragon slayers, despite their incorporation of the pilfered anti-dragon weapon design into their army, and a war against Berk would ruin them, if not destroy them. If deviltry prevented his people's destruction, then deviltry it would be.

As the column neared the guard post, Stonefist began to hear thunder ringing across the island. Not a cloud above them, though. He halted in his tracks and ordered his men to do the same, straining to hear more. The unmistakable shrieks and clangs of combat filled the gaps between the thunder strikes. His men heard the same, their good cheer evaporating quicker than boiling water.

"The dragon," muttered Cragfist to his side. "We should have killed him."

"That was up to Cervantes," said Stonefist, "but yes, we should have."

The guard post was just over one final ridge, and they marched double-time to reach it. Stonefist intended to pick up the warriors stationed at the post and continue marching, to put an end to the troublesome reptile once and for all. If Cervantes complained about it, he could go straight to Hel… though he'd probably like it there. Lots of guys like him to talk shop with.

His plans encountered their first wrinkle as soon as he cleared the ridge and saw the guard post. The only warriors on their feet were a pair of females, both of which Stonefist recognized right away. The rest, close to twenty reliable and sturdy men, were sitting cross-legged on the snow with their hands on their laps, their weapons thrown together into a pile, and humiliation on their faces. On further inspection, Stonefist noticed that the piled-up weapons were mangled and broken, as if a giant had snapped them in two.

The girl that had beaten his son stood on guard, watching them with her powerful axe at the ready. But the real shock was The Seer's presence as she stood before him, her daggers drawn from their sheaths and crossed before her chest. She had been waiting for his arrival, her mouth a grim line and her feet in a defensive stance.

"What is this?" demanded Stonefist, his son and his men forming a line behind him. None could believe their eyes. None dared express the blatantly obvious for fear of losing their head to Stonefist's temper.

"You must stop, my Chief," declared the Seer, the authority in her voice making it sound like an edict from the Gods.

"You were on your way to our village. How can you be here?" Stonefist was having some difficulty wrapping his head around this.

"You cannot go through with this," she replied, ignoring his confusion. "Return to your ship and go home. Order our people to do the same. Today, the madness must end."

"You… you've turned," said Cragfist, the only other Gunnarr with the courage to speak. "You've turned against your people."

"I am saving our people from your mistakes." The Seer continued to address Stonefist only, her gaze drilling into him. "Consider the man you have allied us with, my Chief. You know in your heart that he does not intend to show our people favor. He will sweep us away as he will sweep away all others."

"You will defy me, then?" Stonefist's face slowly twisted, the agony of betrayal finally sinking in. "You will fight your own people?"

"Fight you?" The Seer surprised everyone by suddenly snapping her weapons back into their sheaths and taking her hands off them. She lowered her arms and softened her gaze, the shift in body language making it seem like an entirely different person had just taken her place. It caught Stonefist off guard as well, his growing anger blunted for the moment.

Astrid readied herself to do something, though she didn't know what that something was. Save the Seer from fifty angry blades? This wasn't looking good, but there wasn't anything to do except watch and wait, two things she hated doing.

"When have I ever fought you?" the Seer said. "When have I ever defied you? All my life, I have fulfilled the role I was expected to play. I have served our people without complaint, with hesitation. I have aided you and advised you. I have shown you paths to victory and given you alternatives when you saw nothing but failure. Even when I knew better than to stay silent and let you join forces with the Necromancer, I supported you. I have been your most loyal servant, even though you resent me for my position amongst our people, a position that surpasses your son's."

Cragfist snarled at that last comment, but Stonefist warned him against speaking with a quick glare. "Is that what this is about? You think I resent you?"

"I _know_ you do. Your feelings are easy to read. You are a true Gunnarr, after all. You cannot feel pride at the exploits of a female, so you must feel disdain instead. I've known this for some time, but I have never let my feelings interfere, even now. It is _your_ feelings that will destroy us, because you have let fear pull the wool over your eyes. It will be _your_ actions that will lead to our ruin."

Stonefist's mouth curled again as her accusation bit into him. "You dare? I am saving our people!"

"From what, an imaginary threat? I have watched the Berkians closely. They have no desire to fight us. They have felt peace, and it agrees with them."

"Even if I believed that, will it stay that way? What if they grow stronger? What if they grow ambitious?"

"I cannot see that far. No one can. But I can see what's in front of us, and that is all that matters. You once trusted my words without question. I ask you… I beg you, to trust them now. As your Seer… as your daughter… for our people, you must STOP!"

The world came to a standstill as the Seer and Stonefist faced off, a cavalcade of emotion running across their faces. Anger, fear, hurt, longing – it was far more than just a power struggle, more than just a test of wills. All eyes watched them, waiting for some signal to act or a conclusion that would allow a measure of guidance back into their lives. For the first time in untold years, the Gunnarr were plagued by indecision. The Chief and the Seer, the heart and brains of their culture, were at conflict with one another.

Astrid knew she needed to keep an eye on the prisoners, yet she couldn't turn away from the drama. Two Nightmares fighting over a veal cutlet produced less tension that the standoff before her. This was either going to end with hugs and kisses or with daggers and warhammers.

Soon enough, the standoff came to an end… just not in the way anyone expected.

* * *

><p>His joints creaking with every step, his feeble heart complaining, Cervantes pushed his decrepit body harder than he had in decades. Too much time using magic or getting carted around by his abominations, too much age accumulating in his bones. He wished he could discard his flawed form and inhabit a fresher body, but that was one trick he had yet to learn. Maybe next century, when he had more time on his hands.<p>

The trail through the snow wall gave way to the sloping dome, Cervantes hoping to reach the top before his heart gave up the ghost. It would be embarrassing in the extreme to die from a heart attack right now. He didn't think he could, not with Hyperion essence flowing through his veins, but his heart sure felt ready to go.

Then a black form dropped down in front of him, blocking the way to the top, and a heart attack became the least of his problems.

Toothless growled out his displeasure at the death mage. Cervantes regarded the dragon cautiously and noted the odd device strapped to his belly, a curiosity he brushed off as unimportant. He didn't bother trying to flee, knowing he couldn't outrun the dragon.

"No minions or illusions to hide behind this time, Cervantes," Hiccup commented. Hiccup wanted to see the smug necromancer grovel or freak out, but Cervantes seemed more concerned than frightened, as if Toothless's appearance was unexpected but nothing more. Then he noticed an object tucked into Cervantes's belt, something that resembled a piece of quartz that shifted color at random intervals. Something that mesmerized him and drew his attention. Something Hiccup forced himself to look away from, a new burst of fear spreading throughout his body and numbing his already unfeeling extremities.

"The powercore," he stated, his tone frail. "How did you get it?"

"_A_ powercore," corrected Cervantes. "Did you think there was only one at large in the world?"

Hiccup honestly had, but he didn't say so. "So why aren't you using it?"

"Yes, why don't I divulge my plans like an idiot?" said Cervantes, quite annoyed by the question. "It was the Seer, wasn't it? I trusted Stonefist when he said he could keep her under control." He shook his head, disappointed. "So what now? How will you slay me? I hope it's not with stupid questions."

"I'm going to let Toothless decide how to do that," threatened Hiccup, the dragon adding emphasis by firing a tiny fireball right at Cervantes's feet, creating a sizzling puddle in the ice and forcing the death mage back another step.

It didn't have the desired effect, the mage smiling dismissively at Hiccup. "Please. I watched you for some time, enough to know that you're not capable of cold-blooded execution. Against a flying reptilian mountain of death, you're a danger, but not like this."

"Funny you should mention Red Death," said Hiccup grimly. "You're the one who turned Latimar into Red Death, which makes you responsible for the Dragon War. That means hundreds of lives, thousands of dragons… all on you. Sounds less like an execution and more like justice."

"Perhaps it would be," said Cervantes, showing no remorse. "Latimar is certainly not my only crime, either. But you will let me live and let me go, for I remain the only one who can save this world."

"Save the world? From what, guys like you?"

"Something far worse. You'll need me to fight it. I am the only one capable of doing what needs to be done."

"Hmm, let's see. A – I don't believe you, and B – if I did, I'd still want to try things our way first before letting you take charge," chided Hiccup.

"_Your_ way? It's been done before, and it failed. Your little social experiment is very quaint, but dragons and humans simply can't co-exist. The desire to kill one another is in your bones."

"Yeah? I've heard it all before, and it was wrong then as well," Hiccup rebutted. "But I'll make you this one-time deal, Cervantes. If you give up the powercore and promise to never come anywhere near the Atlantic Ocean again… I'll let you go."

Cervantes snickered at Hiccup's notion of mercy. "Archibald would never agree to that."

"I'll give you a head start," said Hiccup. "If you end this, I'll get you off the island." Toothless gave Hiccup a look that suggested the dragon wasn't about to go along with such a plan, but Hiccup figured he could sweet talk him into it eventually.

Cervantes chuckled again and shook his head. "I only have two words for you, child – smoke bomb."

On command, one of the finger bones hanging from Cervantes's belt expelled a mighty cloud of gas darker than the thickest thunderhead. It enveloped the mage almost instantly, Toothless recoiling in surprise and then testily firing a fireball into it, the cloud lighting up briefly before darkening again. Toothless growled irately and fired off two more blasts, netting the same result.

"Okay, that's just cheating," said Hiccup, glancing about for any suspicious shapes in the gas. But within seconds, the gas dissipated into nothing and revealed an empty landscape marked by a few new craters in the ice. Cervantes was gone, but in his place flitted a faint shadow that married a man's humanoid form with the sticklike wings of a giant gull.

Hiccup and Toothless looked up and spotted Cervantes in the air, a pair of skeletal wings having grown out his back somehow. He had to be fifty feet in the air already, a feat of aeronautical speed that only Toothless could match. The necromancer laughed as he grabbed the powercore from his belt with one hand and unfastened the belt itself with the other. The leather strap hung loose from his hand, his collection of empowered remains dangling like grotesque wind chimes.

"I was hoping to try this on Archibald," yelled down Cervantes, "but you'll do instead."

He tossed the strap into the air above him, the remains flinging off the belt all at once, floating on their own and slowing rotating. They began to blacken, living darkness coating them and shooting out sparks and tendrils all around them. Each spark or tendril coalescenced into a new bone, some creating identical parts while others formed wildly different shapes and sizes. The new bones began to darken and give birth to other bones, the air around Cervantes rapidly filling up with hundreds of different specimens. Hiccup could see dragon skulls form from digits, spines give birth to collar bones. Teeth, vertebrate, completely unidentifiable bits popped into existence and surrounded the laughing death mage.

Then the bones began to swirl around him, becoming a whirling vortex of the dead. Growing more and more rapid, the vortex narrowed around the mage and threatened to lacerate him into oblivion. But then the parts started to link together, forming connections that nature never intended, massive limbs emerging out of the maelstrom. A torso formed around Cervantes, encasing him in a protective ribcage cocoon. The limbs joined to form shoulders and hips, knees and elbows, feet and hands.

When it was over, Hiccup realized that he probably should have done something to stop Cervantes during this whole transformation business, but it was hard not to get distracted by the process. Now he had a much bigger problem.

It was a headless humanoid abomination; five times the size of the withered old man, with a pair of wings at its back similar to Cervantes's original pair but three times as big. It had three angular reptile skulls on top of its torso, and instead of a hand its right arm housed another head that, while also reptilian, was more blunt and rounded and far bigger than the skull of any dragon species Hiccup was aware of. Every skull had that pervasive darkness inhabiting their eye sockets, though the giant right-arm skull had a writhing mass of it between its jaws. The monstrosity floated in the sky over Hiccup and Toothless, blotting out the sun and any witty rejoinders Hiccup might have come up with for the occasion.

"Always keep the best stuff in reserve," commented Cervantes, his voice perfectly clear even through the wall of bone encasing him, as he aimed the abomination's right arm in Hiccup's direction.

* * *

><p>Nestor lost track of how many warriors he'd sent sprawling, how many weapons had broken against his field, how many ugly mugs he'd improved with an elbow to the nose. Keeping his vow to the Seer was proving to be a lot of work, as he pulled his punches and disarmed his opponents rather than breaking their bones. Most of the time, he could convince an unruly mob to back down after a minute of hurting, but these guys kept coming back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.<p>

Arc was fairing better, having shocked half the attacking Vikings into piles of groaning bodies on the ice. The remaining troops were using cover and sniping at the dragon with bows, but the arrows couldn't get past his electrical defenses, much less his scale plating. Arc now traded shots with the snipers, a painstaking process that he was slowly winning. Those Gunnarr still able to stand were regrouping, a lull in the action allowing Nestor to look around and assess the scene.

That's when he spotted the horrendous skeletal abomination in the air, as well as the noble black dragon and his equally noble rider engaging it. Hiccup and Toothless, all by themselves against the full power of Cervantes. Nestor almost ran off to help them, but he shoved the urge away and kept his place at Arc's back. Arc needed him, and the Gunnarr still had plenty of fight in them.

He wanted to warn Arc, to get him to disengage and go help his friends, but the Gunnarr were already rushing back in for the next round, crying out to their gods for help against the green dragon and the foreign devil. The debate quickly became moot.

For now, Hiccup and Toothless were on their own.

* * *

><p>A flood of black fire erupted from the right-arm dragonhead and saturated the ground where Toothless had stood a second ago, the agile dragon already leaping vertical. Ice and snow vanished into steam, a great plume of scorching water vapor following after Toothless. The dragon twisted in the air and rocketed past the abomination, heading for the sky and a more tactically advantageous position.<p>

Cervantes wouldn't have it. The abomination followed his course, the trio of smaller skulls lobbing a volley of black fireballs after the dragon, the projectiles a nano-second too slow to catch Toothless. Quickly outdistanced, Cervantes rose higher into the sky, matching altitude with his enemy and awaiting Toothless's counterattack.

"Aim for the skulls," advised Hiccup as Toothless spun around and barreled straight at the abomination. "That seems to be the weak spot for these things."

Toothless let loose a trio of fireballs, his unerring accuracy certain to neutralize the abomination in short order. Just before impact, Hiccup spotted a flock of bone plates shoot out from the center of the monster, right in the fireballs' path. The plates met the fireballs and detonated them early, filling the air with pretty explosions but doing nothing else. Hiccup and Toothless both grimaced at this newest defense.

Toothless and Cervantes traded volleys and counter-volleys for several minutes, Toothless outmaneuvering Cervantes's fireballs and Cervantes intercepting his. What the necromancer lacked in speed he made up for in protection, and Toothless couldn't get in close enough to bypass the abomination's defensive option without getting hammered by black fire. Hiccup's mind raced to come up with some alternative, but he was coming up empty. Cervantes was empowered by magic, not physics, and none of the tactics he used on Red Death/Latimar would work here.

Hiccup observed that the abomination's main dragonhead wasn't firing. In fact, the dark fire insides its cavernous jaws seemed to be growing, expanding into the full confines of the skull's empty recesses. What was Cervantes up to?

Toothless came in for a sixth pass, this time attempting a feint by flying in high and then dropping low, targeting the abomination's legs. But before he could complete the maneuver, Cervantes raised his main dragonhead, the skull almost completely obscured by dark flames. Hiccup ordered Toothless to go evasive, the dragon obeying, as an orb of crackling black fire seven times as large as a normal projectile launched outward. Slow and badly aimed, Toothless didn't even have to dodge the thing as the super fireball sped by, though Hiccup could feel the intense heat pulsing off of it as it passed.

"That was a lot of buildup to nothing," commented Hiccup… right before the super fireball blew apart behind them.

The buffeting wave of superheated air tossed Toothless around like a dandelion puff in the wind, Hiccup grabbing hold of his saddle and crying out. He cried out again upon seeing the next wave approaching, a shower of mini-black fireballs racing away from the epicenter of the explosion, a good chunk of them in his direction.

"DIVE!" he screamed, Toothless growling out his dismay as the dragon went into a tailspin, the wind tearing at Hiccup's harness. The burst of speed saved their lives, the blossom of fire spreading out and thinning as it overtook Toothless. Hundreds of mini-fireballs swarmed around them, some petering out with a rude sizzle and others bursting in midair. One missed Hiccup's right shoulder by a hair's breadth, his shirt smoking from the graze. Another blew up in Toothless's path, the flames half-blinding him and almost causing him to fly straight into a low mountain of frost before pulling up and skimming the peak.

They weathered the storm of fire without further damage, Hiccup desperately scanning the heavens for the abomination. He found it… right behind them. Cervantes was on their tail and closing, his abomination's left arm aiming at them, the necromancer having used the explosion to mask his own movements. Hiccup ordered Toothless to go evasive yet again, fearing what new power Cervantes had at his disposal.

Sure enough, something flew off the outstretched hand. Several somethings. Lots of tiny somethings. They whizzed past Toothless at a startling speed, a few of them punching a small hole through his false tail rudder. Hiccup saw that the abomination's left hand was shirking or degrading as the barrage continued, and he deduced that those projectiles were bone fragments being propelled at amazing speeds, using the abomination's own bones as ammo.

Toothless banked tighter as the barrage continued, Cervantes staying on their tail and Toothless doing his best just to stay out of the line of fire. Hiccup hurriedly looked for an opportunity or a direction to go. In one direction, he could see Nestor and Arc still battling the Gunnarr. In another, he spotted someone, presumably the Seer, standing in front of another column of Gunnarr. No help from those directions.

One projectile glanced off of Toothless's back, the ricochet severing one of the straps holding the launcher to the saddle. Three more straps remained in place, so no fear of it falling off just yet. But the near miss did remind Hiccup of the other weapon at his disposal, one that Cervantes wouldn't be expecting.

"This isn't working, bud," he declared, and then he told Toothless his plan. The dragon waggled his head, desperate for a good idea and happy to get one.

Toothless dived in at the same mountainous peak that he nearly speared himself on earlier and twisted hard around it. Cervantes's abomination couldn't quite follow, one of his wings clipping the peak in a splash of ice and bone fragments and forcing the necromancer to break off for the moment. Toothless used the opportunity to ascend at a steep angle, Hiccup watching out for the abomination's return as the ground quickly shrunk away.

In short order, the abomination was back on their tail, climbing after them. No fireballs or bone barrage this time. Toothless's ascent slowed as his airspeed lagged and the dragon began to tire, but Cervantes had no physical limitations. Cervantes's intentions became evident as the bones on the monster's left hand shifted to become longer, sharper. He planned on a midair melee, or perhaps just a tussle designed to keep Toothless from dodging the black fire this time. At the speed it was traveling, the abomination would be upon them in seconds.

"Almost there," said Hiccup, hoping his sense of timing hadn't atrophied since last time.

The abomination was right behind, reaching for the dragon's tail with its left hand, its dragonhead encased in the blackest night Hiccup had ever seen.

"FLIP!"

Toothless looped backward, using the last of his momentum to propel his tail upward and his head down, facing the abomination. The monster overshot Toothless by mere feet, missing his tail and every other part of him. No blue flames came forth this time, though. Toothless aimed his torso straight at the rear midsection of the abomination, Hiccup stamping down on the saddle's right peddle and catapulting the grapple launcher into motion.

The net that had ensnared Nestor on the Gunnarr ship had been replaced in the interim between the fleet and the Isle of Frost. With what little free time he had during the summit, Hiccup had made a few adjustments to the launcher. One was to create another special attachment similar to a fisherman's spear, for spearing big fishes in the ocean. It came out looking more like a grappling hook due to the rush job Hiccup did on it. At the time, his reason for making it out of myssteel was that a myssteel hook wouldn't break easily after repeated uses… and he needed to do _something_ with the rest of the excess metal.

The grappling hook punched right through the monster's midsection, the rope trailing after it. The abomination didn't seem to notice the rope sticking out of its body as it twisted to face its foe. Not wasting a second, Toothless folded his wings and dived straight down past the startled bone monster, the rope connecting the two flyers tightening within seconds and spooling through the hole in the thing's gut.

Then the hook caught on the abomination's ribs, and it was suddenly coming along for the ride.

Like a living meteorite from the sky, Toothless tore through the atmosphere with the abomination twisting and writhing behind him. The launcher creaked and groaned from the stress as Cervantes swore in an unfathomable language, unable to bring his weapons to bear while the drag forced him to face backward. Hiccup clasped his arms around the dragon as the wind screamed in his ears, the white nothingness of the island fast approaching. His teeth rattled as the stress on his equipment caused them to vibrate and buckle. His blood roaring through his ears, he wanted to close his eyes and wish it all over. But he still had one last thing to do and it required his full courage.

The ground loomed large in front of him, the ice eagerly waiting to embrace him and Toothless. In a few more seconds, it would get its wish.

"NOW!" he cried out, Toothless immediately spreading his wings to regain control. The wind shrieked, Toothless shrieked, and Hiccup was pretty sure he was shrieking too as the dragon inched their dive upward. Heartbeat after heartbeat, Toothless's nose slowly rose away from the ground and toward the horizon, the hilly terrain reaching out to grab the dragon out of the air.

Right before the point the dive angled off into a level flight, mere feet above the uncompromising ground, Hiccup pulled both release straps on the grapple launcher. With a jump and a lurch, the launcher fell away and continued its journey to the ground, whipping the abomination into the landscape. Hiccup breathed out a sigh of relief, grateful for having taken the time to make sure the emergency release system now only dropped the launcher and nothing else.

Cervantes's abomination was a weapon of magic, not bound to the laws of inertia and speed as most things in the world. But while it could bend some laws to its will, it could not break them all. Going too fast and too low to the ground to stop, it ploughed into the hard ice of the island, rolling and crashing through mounds and hills, sending up a shower of white that was part frozen water and part bone, arms and legs tangling, breaking, snapping. Bursts of black flame flickered as the dragon skulls burst inward or came undone from the central mass, melting the unfortunate ice around it.

At last, the abomination collided with a wall of ice it couldn't break through, the _thump_ reaching Hiccup's ears as Toothless cruised above the wreckage. In its wake was a trail of broken debris, bones scrambled with the remains of Hiccup's launcher, thoroughly pulverized by the crash. The abomination remained still, a twisted heap of its former self.

"It was a good prototype," said Hiccup as they came in low over the wreckage, Hiccup feeling like the time he had to burn his favorite fur blanket because it had become infested with fleas. "The next one will be better, but it won't be the same." Toothless looked back at him unhappily, as if saying _Next one?_

They held position just above the abomination, hovering in place in case they needed to skedaddle right quick. It didn't look like they needed to worry, though. The abomination's left arm was gone, its heads crushed or missing, its wings snapped off, its legs mangled beyond use. The torso had broke open near the top, allowing Hiccup to see one bruised-up necromancer attempting to either climb out of his undead war machine or somehow get it up and running. Hiccup was amazed that Cervantes had survived the crash, much less in one piece.

They had landed not far from the guard post Astrid and the Seer had gone to, everyone gathered there staring his direction. He located Astrid guarding some Vikings and she waved in his direction. It looked like they had things under control on their end.

Cervantes finally glared up at Hiccup and Toothless, remarkably calm considering what had just happened. He coughed once and said, "You are quite the nuisance, child."

"Talk to my father sometime," replied Hiccup snidely. "Does _he_ have stories to tell."

Grimacing, Cervantes brought up his right arm and aimed it at Hiccup. Simultaneously, the abomination quivered and shook as its right arm followed its master's example, bones grinding and cracking as the battered main dragonhead began charging up its black fire again.

"Give it up, Cervantes," ordered Hiccup. "You've lost."

"You only lose when you refuse to do what must be done," said Cervantes, the dragonhead's fire gathering intensity. But then he moaned and lowered his arm, his injuries catching up to him. The abomination's arm lowered as well, though the black fire continued to grow in strength inside the dragonhead.

"Toothless, take out the arm," said Hiccup. "We'll save him for Arc to deal..."

Unexpectedly speedy for an injured old man, Cervantes moved his right arm once more and aimed it upward, closing his fist as if squishing an ant in his palm. The abomination's arm rose and unleashed another orb of black fire a moment before Toothless's fire breath severed the arm at the shoulder, the giant limb plopping lifelessly to the ground.

The orb missed Hiccup and Toothless as it did before, but largely because it hadn't been aimed at him. It arched like a catapult round over the field of ice separating them from the guard post. By the time Hiccup realized where it was going to land, it had already landed.

Right on top of the Gunnarr. Right on top of Astrid and the Seer.

He saw the thick explosion of ice and fire, saw the Gunnarr dive for cover and cry out to Tyr and Thor, saw the ground cave in and melt from the unnatural heat, saw the Seer slide into the crater that opened like a gaping mouth in the ground… and saw Astrid rush to save her, only to fall into the crater as well.

"ASTRID!" Hiccup cried.

He didn't even think about it, didn't even consider what consequences his actions might bring. He ordered Toothless to fly to Astrid and the dragon obeyed without question, leaving Cervantes alone in his ruined abomination.

The necromancer chuckled as he climbed out of the construct's torso section, nowhere near as sore as he let on. He held the powercore in his left hand, his prized femur in his right. The one bone not tied into his personal abomination – it never hurt to have one more contingency.

* * *

><p>Astrid quietly cheered on Hiccup and Toothless as they battled one of Cervantes's bone monsters in the air and cheered out loudly when they sent it smashing into the ground. The Gunnarr, the Seer included, were struck dumbfounded and awestruck by the fracas above their heads. This kind of surreal sight was new to them, and Astrid almost laughed upon realizing how the surreal had become commonplace in her life.<p>

The abomination down, the Gunnarr is disarray, Astrid dared to believe that it was all over. She thought that Stonefist would now turn to his… daughter… and declare that he was a fool for working with Cervantes and that he would honor his treaty with Berk and so on and happy endings for all. That's how things ended last time, so why couldn't it happen again? Why couldn't this work out for everyone?

Then the dark orb of fire descended on them. She saw it coming, they all saw it coming, but the inhibiting snow made escape difficult. The Seer tried to push her father out of the way, but the reverse happened. Stonefist ran to her and shoved her hard down the icy ridge, the Seer sprawling as she slid away. The act saved her life, for Stonefist, along with several other unlucky Vikings, was right under the fireball when it hit.

Astrid dove for cover, screaming, ducking her face as a spray of steam and water washed over her, her cloak absorbing most of it. She waited a few seconds for the explosion to clear, then cautiously picked herself up. Throwing off her cloak, she gaped in horror at the spreading crater before her, as deep as a house is tall and growing larger by the second. A lump of dark flame burned at its heart, eating away at the ice and drying up the water as it pooled. The lump of fire shrank as Astrid watched, losing power but still gradually expanding the crater.

Through the plumes of misty steam she could see Cragfist and most of the Gunnarr backing away from the crater, as were the Vikings she had guarded until recently. The Seer lay on the ground, dazed and weakly attempting to stand. The Gods had saved her from the blast, but not from the crater, and like a sneaky predator it came for her.

Astrid called out a warning and ran for her, but the Seer was too disoriented to react. The crater took the Seer's feet out from under her and she began to slide down its slick sides. The Seer recovered enough of her wits to dig her hands into the snow, but she found little purchase to arrest her slide.

Astrid dove for her hands just as they lost their grip, her left hand catching the Seer's right. Astrid chopped down her axe into the ice, burying it deep and using the handle as a handhold. She laid on the ice, a human link between the Seer and oblivion, her muscles tightening and flexing as she pulled the Seer toward her, sweat beading on her forehead from the strain and from the wafting heat that rolled over her.

She erred, she quickly realized. The heat forced the crater walls to expand, moving past the Seer and inching underneath Astrid, the angle of the walls deepening and turning gravity into an enemy. A one-horned helmet, ebony flames ringing its edges, slid past her into the dark heart of the crater, warping and folding under the deadly heat. The strain grew on her arms as she gritted her teeth, desperate to keep the Seer, and herself, from meeting the same fate.

Soon the crater would spread past her axe and melt the ice around it, dislodging it. Soon there would be no handhold. There was no one else to help her, no one stupid enough to try. Perhaps it was Hiccup who should have been watching out for her and not the other way around…

"Above you!"

The Seer cried out as a flapping shadow descended on them. Astrid almost teared up with relief when Toothless dropped down into the crater and grabbed hold of the Seer with his front paws, Hiccup yelling at Astrid to hold onto the Seer's hands. Like she needed to be reminded to do that.

Having recovered her wits, the Seer took Astrid's hand in her own and pulled her upward, both of them lifted airborne and away from the crawling crater. Astrid made sure to yank her axe out with her, not willing to lose such a great weapon. "What's this now, three times?" she yelled up at Toothless, who responded with a happy waggle of the head.

But what little mirth Astrid had died when she saw the Seer's face. She was looking down at the dying fire in the pit, watching her father's helmet dissolve into slag. Even for someone who had practiced the way of the warrior all her life, it was impossible for her to hide the pain in her eyes.

* * *

><p>Battered but unbroken, Cervantes flew away to the dome while everyone else was indisposed, the path clear back to the Monolith. He tried not to fume over his near-defeat, how he had exhausted every weapon in his arsenal, every servant and minion at his disposal, yet a young brat on a damaged dragon still nearly took him down. Not good for the ego.<p>

But even now, he could still win this. It wouldn't be a nice and neat victory, but true victories rarely ever were. He still needed the second powercore… but he didn't need it right _now_. If he didn't use the one he had, he wouldn't have a future at all.

He landed on the very top of the dome, his wings disappearing back into the space between worlds. He took up the powercore in both hands, closed his eyes, and recited a series of phrases that sounded more like a series of clicks and garbled whines than a language. He had memorized the phrase for this occasion, gleaned from the Shadow Hall he had taken the powercore from. Ancient Artisanie, a very dead language.

As he spoke, the powercore ceased its shifting and solidified its color scheme to a gold tinge, radiating soft light that attracted the gaze even more powerfully than before. A groove formed in the snow below him, encircling him. The circle slowly began to sink into the dome, taking Cervantes with it. Cervantes smiled and held the powercore close to his chest, savoring this unique and exquisite moment. He still didn't have everything he needed, but it was within arm's reach, and his arm was about to get very long indeed.

He heard his name screamed out from a distance. Sounded like Archibald, probably realizing what was happening. That almost made up for not sending him to the Void.

His head disappeared under the snowline and the snow fell in after him, swallowing him up and leaving only a collapsed hole as evidence of his descent. Even that would fade into irrelevance as those gathered on the Isle of Frost bore witness to the birth of the Monolith.


	17. Rising

**Author's Note (disregard if you see chapters past this one attached to the story):**

Well, nuts. Didn't get the job. Not to worry, the public schools in my area resume next week, though subbing will be slow for now unless I can get a long-time sub position. Not likely to happen immediately.

Here's where we stand... again. With my time about to become unpredictable, I am going to be withholding the last chapters until they're _all_ done and meet my satisfaction. I expect two chapters will finish things up, but I might go with three based on how the pacing works out. The good news is that I will post _all_ the last chapters together. The bad news? No chapter next week for sure, and possibly not the week after that. For those of you not using Story Alert, my goal is to finish the story and post it on Friday, September 2nd at 8am. If my work prospects are slow, I might get it done and post it on August 26th, but don't get your hopes up about that.

Onwards... for the penultimate time.

**Chapter Sixteen: Rising **

Arc monitored the progress of the half-crispy, half-battered Vikings as they crawled, hobbled, and dragged themselves from the battle, the last iota of fight in them finally snuffed out. He kept his satisfaction to himself, content to have repaid his captors in full for their "kindness." An animalistic urge within him wanted more satisfaction, wanted to utterly destroy them and ensure they wouldn't cross him again. Two days in an icy cage can make one mighty testy. But the presence of the young man standing next to him, panting from the long fight but still on his guard, reminded him that he was better than that, and he let the urge pass. Let them tell others of Archibald and Nestor, the ones that defeated them this day. It might make future adversaries more reluctant if word got around, though they might refer to him Thunder Smelter or something equally ridiculous. Vikings and their names…

"Next time, Hiccup gets to be the bait," Nestor wheezed out. Mentioning his friend's name reminded Nestor to look to the sky, scanning for the airborne battle that he had reluctantly ignored until now. "Speaking of which, do you see Hiccup and Toothless…?"

A roaring explosion on the other side of the island forced their attention that direction. Arc stood up on his hind legs and stretched his neck to see, spotting another crowd of Vikings surrounding a steaming crater in the snow. Something dramatic was occurring, though the details eluded him.

"Was there another part to this plan you didn't mention?" asked Arc.

"Astrid and the Seer went after the powercore. Stonefist…"

"The powercore's here?" Arc bristled at the revelation. "How?"

"Long story," Nestor said, his breathing slowing to normal. "There was…"

"Save it," said Arc. "I'll catch up later. We should see to your allies, though it appears that Hiccup and Toothless are already on their way."

Nestor saw the black dragon skimming low over the island, flying toward the explosion. Relieved to see his friends in one piece, his brow then furrowed with confusion. "No Cervantes?'

"Cervantes?" growled Arc, searching the air with new determination. He snarled instinctively when he spotted a winged figure fleeing the scene, flying back toward the center of the island. "I'm in pursuit. Go help the others."

"Isn't flying off after Cervantes how you _got_ in this predicament?" countered Nestor.

Arc rolled his eyes, unwilling to admit that Nestor had a point. "Yes, but I'll be smarter this time."

"Famous last words," commented Nestor as Arc took to the air. Hoping Arc really had smartened up, he pumped energy into his legs and ran toward the next trouble spot, speeding past the fleeing Gunnarr as they made their way towards their ships.

Arc's wings throbbed from disuse, slowing down his cruising speed, but no amount of joint pain was about to dissuade him from catching the retreating death mage. He knew a lot about the necromancer's tricks, and he knew from past encounters that Cervantes's flight power was slow but reliable. The death mage had a head start, but he wouldn't be able to outrun or out-fly Arc for long. Barring any abominations hiding in the snow, the necromancer wouldn't escape this time.

When Cervantes landed on top of the snow dome rather than continuing to fly away, it surprised Arc. When Cervantes produced a radiant object from his belt that was unmistakably a powercore, it alarmed Arc. And when Cervantes's smiling face sank under the dome and disappeared entirely, it so enraged Arc that he screamed out the necromancer's name and fried the snow below him with several unintentional lightning bolts.

Then things began to rumble.

It started with a wave of small tremors, spreading out in a uniform front from the dome like ripples in a pond. Loose snow packs broke free or came apart, crevices filling up with snowy debris and hills losing a few feet off their peaks. New crevices began to form across the barren fields, ice cracking and snapping under the stress. The fleeing Vikings felt the vibrations under their feet; some stopping in panic while others putting more effort into running away. Arc's sensitive nose detected a new smell wafting into the air, something metallic and old. Something that hadn't seen the light for eons. A whining buzz began to sound across the island like the world's biggest choir of bees. Even the temperature felt different, warmer, as if the island's cold heart had suddenly transformed into a furnace and the air was heating up as a result.

The tremors grew in strength, the peaks and ridges beginning to flatten, the crevices growing and shifting as the snow compacted and spread, crumbled and melted. The island's convulsions were more pronounced closer to the island's center, but soon the entire island would be affected.

Fighting off his desire to land and tear a hole into the dome with his bare claws, Arc turned away and flew back towards Nestor and the others. Despite the last-minute upset to his plans, Cervantes had still found a way. Despite all his efforts, Arc had failed Latimar once more.

The Monolith was rising.

* * *

><p>In all the ensuing bedlam that had followed the black fire explosion and the death of Stonefist, the basket containing the powercore and its accompanying diary-tome was almost forgotten. Dropped in the snow by a distracted Cragfist, Hiccup had Toothless touch down on top of it, the dragon snarling away any Gunnarr who still contemplated hostile action. Most weren't in the mood to try, not with their leader gone and their tribe divided and scattered.<p>

Hiccup dismounted and snatched the basket out from under Toothless, peeking inside to see the ever-glowing, ever-shifting powercore within. That confirmed it – Cervantes's powercore had come from elsewhere. The knowledge failed to make him feel any better. The tremors flowing through the ice made his metal foot vibrate and his skin itch, and he suspected it was only the warm-up exercises for what was coming.

Cragfist and a sizeable number of his people stood less than ten yards away, keeping back but not backing down. Astrid and the Seer stood together in front of them, the Seer arguing with Cragfist about why they weren't running for their lives right now. If Gunnarr tradition was anything like Berkian tradition, Cragfist was now the acting chieftain of his clan. Not a good development.

The Seer showed no anger, nor grief, nor even fear. Hiccup thought he saw a pained expression very briefly settle on her face before the Seer forced it away, returning to her emotionless self. A tear for her Chieftain, perhaps. It was hard to imagine the Seer crying over anything, or anyone.

"You need to lead our people off this island," ordered the Seer. "Do you not feel the ice moving?"

"We still have a deal with Cervantes," said Cragfist, spitting hatred out with every word. "Our… _my_ father, will not have died in vain."

"Is your vision that poor?" she shot back. "The Necromancer's magic is what killed him."

"Because of your traitorous acts," said Cragfist. "Because of your allies."

"If you are this determined to compound our father's folly with your own, then you leave me with no choice." The Seer proceeded to raise her hands above her head, her voice carrying every ounce of authority she could muster. "By right of the Seer, I take the title of our honored chieftain and I give it away. Let there be a new leader for our people."

"You can do that?" asked Astrid.

"She can't!" cried out Cragfist. "None of us will respect the words of a traitor." The panic in his voice counteracted the certainty of his words.

"Until the Elders declare me otherwise, I am still Gunnarr and still the Seer," she declared. She pointed at the one-eyed Gunnarr named Headsnapper, who had stayed out of the arguments until now. "I give you the title of Chieftain, Headsnapper. Do you accept?"

Ignoring the evil glare from Cragfist, Headsnapper calmly stepped forward and nodded. "It is not my place to be Chief, but for our people I will accept this until the Elders make a permanent choice."

"This is insanity!" yelled out Cragfist, grinding his teeth so hard that he snapped a weakened molar off completely.

It was at the moment that Nestor skidded to a halt next to Hiccup, winded again from racing across the island. He turned to Hiccup and said between breaths, "Great, another group of Gunnarr."

"Bigger problem than that," replied Hiccup. "Cervantes has another powercore."

Nestor reeled at the news. "Another one?"

"Another one. And if this rumbling is any clue…"

"Then Arc couldn't stop Cervantes in time, and we're in big trouble."

"Yeah, thanks for summing that AIEEE!"

The ground rocked violently, sending jagged cracks in all directions. Hiccup and Nestor were thrown off their feet as the ice split apart right in front of them, Toothless falling back on his hind legs as something erupted out of the ice.

A tendril as thick as a longboat is wide thrust itself into the air, towering over the gathering like a snake preparing to chow down on a party of mice. It had no joints or sections of note, seemingly one solid entity with a metallic shine that Hiccup had become an expert on recognizing. The stain-free surface reflected the terrified looks of the Vikings as the horrific thing sprouted several dozen smaller rope-thick tentacles, emerging from out of the metal. They swarmed around the base, writhing like ticked-off worms, though these worms resembled interlocking chains of bones that ended in grasping skeletal digits and hands,

Some of them attacked the nearby Gunnarr, batting them like whips and coiling around them like living ropes. The Vikings bashed and cut at the tendrils, but their weapons couldn't even scratch the impervious metal. Astrid and the Seer went to chopping at the tendrils, their absurdly sharp weapons slicing them apart with ease, but for every tendril they destroyed two more formed to take its place. More tendrils went after Nestor and Hiccup, Toothless opening fire and incinerating several of them before one lucky tentacle wrapped around his jaw and held his mouth shut.

"Ulp!" was all Nestor got out before he was ensnared, several tendrils wrapping around his limbs and throat and keeping him from moving. Hiccup found himself in a tug of war with a tendril and the basket, a war he was losing as his feet slipped out from under him and he was dragged on his belly toward the main tendril. Another tentacle snuck around his waist and started squeezing, pulling him away from the basket. Tenacity made him hold on for a few seconds more, the basket's handle giving up before he did and ripping off in his hands.

Hiccup cried out in denial, certain that losing the second powercore was a bad, bad thing, though how it could make things worse was debatable. But somebody heard him, and a bolt of lightning slammed into the central tendril, slicing through the myssteel and causing a significant chunk of the tendril to burst into scattering fragments on the broken ice below. Several little tendrils broke apart in the same fashion, others retracting into the main tendril and patching up the considerable holes with their own substance.

Arc came in hard and fast, releasing two more bolts from the air that split the tendril down the middle. The tendril quaked and quivered like a living thing, recoiling down into its hole like a wounded animal, its mini-tendrils releasing their prey and retracting. It disappeared into the recesses of the rattling island, leaving the group shaken but largely unharmed.

Then another massive tendril burst forth into the open, this one behind Cragfist. The terrified Viking screamed out to Thor for deliverance, but it was Arc that saved his pathetic life with two more lightning blasts that scorched the monstrous appendage and sent it back into the ground.

Arc landed near Toothless as the gathering regrouped, the green dragon breathing hard for a change as he regarded the Gunnarr in his midst. "There will be more of those, and my charge is nearly depleted. Though it is more than you deserve, I advise you to leave."

"Agreed," said Headsnapper. He told one of his men to call a retreat, a rarely used horn signal that some Gunnarr didn't even recognize at first. Most of them got the gist of it when their fellow warriors stampeded toward the ship landing to the east. Cragfist gave the nearby tendril hole a wide berth as he followed his brethren, though he stopped before the Seer long enough to deliver a parting word and a seething glare before moving on.

"Don't come back," he warned.

The ground's trembling grew stronger by the minute, the cracks widening and the ice buckling and calving as the island slowly shook apart. The beelike whine became a roar, blending in with the howling wind that now gusted over the diminished ridges to the north. More of the metallic tendrils popped out all across the island, intent on widening the cracks and crevices and speeding on the island's disintegration.

Recovering the basket with the powercore, Hiccup mounted Toothless again and pulled Astrid up after him. Arc took out another emerging tendril before surprising the _krebit_ out of Nestor by bending down and offering his back to his apprentice. Dumbfounded to the extreme, Nestor looked at Arc as if the dragon had just gone senile.

"What's this?" he asked.

Now Arc was looking at _him_ as if he'd just gone senile. "What does it look like?"

"Really?" A thin smile crept onto Nestor's face.

"Don't get used to it," Arc muttered.

"Could we get a move on?" shouted Hiccup over the destruction. Toothless toasted another tendril with a well-placed fireball as they waited for Nestor to get situated just below the base of Arc's neck. Nestor then yelled at the Seer to get on, and though her thoughts and gaze were on the receding throng of Vikings to the east, her heart heavy with regret, she finally ran to Arc and boarded him, finding a feasible riding location a few feet behind Nestor.

"We can't go back to Berk," warned Arc, raising his voice so that everyone could hear him. "Not yet."

"Why? Is there somebody else's day we haven't ruined yet?" replied Astrid, far from the only one surprised by Arc's instructions.

"There's an uninhabited island many miles to the southwest that will offer shelter," said Arc. "Follow me there, and I will explain."

With no better plan to follow, Hiccup agreed. Arc and Toothless took off and rapidly gained elevation, putting as much distance between them and the disaster area below them. Crystal-clear ocean could be seen at the bottom of some of the crevices near the edge of the island, ice floes and chunks breaking off and floating away. By oar or by sail, Gunnarr longboats were leaving in disorganized formations, picking up the few stragglers they could find on the ice floes.

"Not all of them will make it," remarked the Seer quietly, watching the exodus below.

"Most of them will, though," comforted Nestor. "They have you to thank for that."

"Thank me?" said the Seer, sadly shaking her head. "That is the one thing they will never do."

Safely past the perimeter of the island, the dragons and their riders took a parallel course so they could witness the death throes of the Isle of Frost. The dome at the center had grown larger, perhaps taller, as the snow and ice disintegrated into the ocean. Silver replaced white as a cloud of steam formed over the former island, a visible structure emerging from the raw chaos, a league of tentacles pushing away the clinging remains and freeing the thing that had rested at the island's heart for thousands of years.

Much of it was submerged in the water, but the clarity of the sea allowed for an excellent view of the Monolith's true form. Half the size of the island that birthed it, its oval-shaped main body had a comical resemblance to a chicken egg on its side, though its top half was flattened and lumpy like the surface of your average deserted island. Its "front" had a pointed cone-like structure that parted the waters before it. The surface was covered in waving tentacles, some only a few feet long while others measured at least sixty or seventy feet high. No holes pocketed its skin, the tendrils growing straight out the metal, some picking off chunks of ice and tossing them away while others were armed with crude oar tips that pushed the Monolith along in the water. A few tendrils wriggled in the air for no apparent reason.

Like twigs facing off against a log, the longboats doubled their efforts to get out of the way. The Monolith ignored them, moving out from the remains of the island and into open waters. No land could be seen in its wake, nothing but a spreading cluster of icebergs. The Isle of Frost had ceased to exist, replaced by the ancient super weapon.

"It's like the island just came alive," said Hiccup, too amazed and horrorstruck to do more than keep Toothless flying level. "All this time, we've been living next to a sleeping giant."

"How are we supposed to stop that thing?" said Astrid, holding onto Hiccup's waist with her one free hand and gripping him a little too tightly. Hiccup didn't answer, didn't want to answer. They could launch every dragon in Berk at the monstrosity below them and they wouldn't even slow it down.

"Let's go!" ordered Arc, the dragon veering off to the southwest. Hiccup had Toothless follow, happy to put as many miles between them and the Monolith as possible, even if their destination wasn't Berk. The air had grown steadily warmer, thanks to the Monolith's birthing pains, but Hiccup couldn't help but shiver nonetheless. This chill was far deeper, the cold knowledge that comes with watching the beginning of the end of your world.

* * *

><p>Trees were good. Trees were a big improvement over open ocean and frosted landscapes. The rocky island's smattering of trees, two score at most, offered a welcome change of pace. They stood like watchtowers in the middle of nowhere, their evergreen boughs offering shade from the setting sun to the beleaguered and the exhausted.<p>

_Beleaguered and exhausted _pretty much described the overall mood of Hiccup and the rest of the group as they landed and collapsed under the woody sentinels, hardly a word having passed between them in the several hours since the battle at the Isle of Frost. This island offered little in the way of sustenance, though Arc quickly remedied that by firing off a lighting bolt into a school of fish he spotted near the island. A few tiny pools of fresh water near the trees took care of their thirst issues.

With several fish stacked on a spit and roasting on a Toothless-spawned fire, the group sat around like comatose patients. His belly already full of fish, Toothless napped while Hiccup and Astrid leaned on him and each other, sharing the body heat. Arc sat facing the beach and watched the northern horizon, the basket with the powercore between his claws. His back to a rotted stump, Nestor kept a watch on the cooking fish, though he mostly stared absently into the fire. The Seer had parked herself the furthest from the camp, slumped against a rock and also staring out to the north, though not with as vigilant an eye as Arc.

"Can't help but think that could have gone better," said Hiccup, the first substantial thing anyone had said that hadn't been a simple instruction or observation.

"We're all alive and free," said Nestor, throwing a twig into the fire. "In my experience, it's hard to beat a result like that."

"And the island-sized war machine of doom made of myssteel?" replied Hiccup.

"I didn't say it was perfect," said Nestor.

"Understatement," commented Arc without facing the group.

"Arc, that's not helping morale," said Nestor.

"You know what also doesn't help morale?" said Arc. "The island-sized war machine of doom made of myssteel."

"By the Gods, I _had_ him," said Hiccup. "I had Cervantes, and I let him get away."

"Can we not play the blame game?" said Astrid, her eyes fluttering open from a quick snooze. "I know two people who are happy to be alive because of you." She gave the sullen form of the Seer a quick glance. "Well, one of us is."

"No one's blaming you, Hiccup," said Nestor. "Right, Arc?"

"Whatever," muttered Arc.

"Arc…"

"I'm not blaming anyone," stated Arc. "If I did, I'd have to blame myself mostly. Three centuries of getting outmaneuvered by that necromancer…"

"Why don't we stop kicking ourselves and just blame Cervantes?" said Astrid. "You know, the actual bad guy?"

"Sorry, Astrid," said Hiccup. "Just feeling a bit overwhelmed. I mean, what are we supposed to do now?"

"Good question," said Nestor. He twisted his head to Arc's back. "Don't you think you're taking this sentry-duty thing too seriously, old man? We're miles and miles away from the Monolith, and it doesn't know where we are."

"I wouldn't assume anything, Nestor," replied Arc. He finally swiveled his head to face the others. "In truth, I'm hoping that's not the case."

"Confused," said Nestor. "You _want_ it to find us?"

"Want or not want, I think it knows already," said Arc, pointing down at the wicker basket below him. "It went for the powercore, if you remember."

"Hard to forget," said Astrid. "Are you saying it's following the powercore?"

Arc nodded. "The Monolith is essentially a giant Super Guardian, something I suspected was the case from the moment we learned that the powercore was also a key. Guardians can sense Artisan technology, especially powercores, and I'd wager that the Monolith can sense them from quite a distance."

"And this is a good thing?" said Hiccup.

"Yes," said Arc. "Think about it. If Cervantes had the power to awaken the Monolith already, why go to all the effort to secure another powercore? The only answer that makes sense is that he still needs it. Without it, the Monolith will run out of fuel."

"I thought powercores lasted forever," said Nestor.

"Nothing lasts forever, Nestor," said Arc. "From what I know of Artisan technology, powercores can 'recycle' their energy without having it bleed off, and they do this for as long as their containment shell isn't breeched. Once fitted to something like a Guardian, the Guardian itself becomes a new shell, giving the war machine virtually unlimited power. But something like the Monolith? Too big for one powercore. It'll overtax it and exhaust its power supply. Two or more powercores would balance the energy supply, allowing it to run for a very long time."

"I think I get it," said Nestor, his mood brightening. "It's like attaching one horse to a two-horse wagon. You can do it, but you won't get very far and you'll wear out your horse pretty quickly."

"I think I'm getting it, too," said Hiccup, also brightening. "If we lure the Monolith after our powercore for long enough, the Monolith will just… wear out. How long are we talking about? Hours?" Arc looked away and didn't answer. "Days?" Still nothing. "Please don't say weeks."

"I don't know," said Arc. "But however long it takes, I can stay ahead of it. I'll stick to uninhabited regions where the Monolith's progression will do little damage."

"You?" said Astrid. "Not _we_?"

"Only one of us needs to do this, Young Astrid," explained Arc. "I'm the logical choice. The rest of you can go home."

"Don't have a home, remember?" said Nestor.

"Then it's time you found one," insisted Arc.

Taken aback by Arc's statement, Nestor's response was cut off by the Seer's sudden appearance, standing before them in her typical first-she's-not-here-then-she-is fashion and looking none too happy.

"Listen to all of you," she said. "Acting like you can solve this problem as you might lure a bear into a trap."

"What's wrong with my plan?" said Arc.

"My visions run counter to it," she explained. "The Outlander and the Dragon Rider are the ones who must confront the Monolith. No other plan will be successful."

"That's technically not a plan," said Hiccup. "And I like Arc's idea better. There's a lot less me getting killed in it."

"What he said," agreed Nestor.

The Seer shook her head in denial, unfazed by their skepticism. "My visions…"

"Your visions?" said Arc, his tone mocking. "Young Seer, I have known many a vision-maker in my time. Most are charlatans, a few are genuine, and _none_ of their visions are to be trusted."

The Seer's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If not for me and my visions, you'd be dead at the hands of your ancient enemy."

"Perhaps," admitted Arc. "Then again, your visions didn't help us stop the Monolith from rising. What is good about seeing the future if the important parts are always missing?"

The Seer's hands went to the daggers but stopped short of drawing them. "I have lost everything that mattered to me, yet this is the thanks you give me? I warn you of failure, and you mock?"

"Seer, calm down," said Astrid, standing up and gesturing to her friend. Hiccup and Nestor also rose, hoping to avoid an unnecessary confrontation.

"Calm down? You have yet to see me angry," stated the Seer, though her eyes suggested otherwise.

"My words were harsher than they need be," said Arc, his tone apologetic but not humble. "We are all strung out, and perhaps rest would be good for us."

The Seer took her hands off her daggers and said, "Rest will not change reality, Hyperion. You will see." Then she stormed off to a spot further down the island, muttering something under her breath.

"How did you come by her?" Arc asked to the group.

"She was trying to kill me," explained Nestor. Arc chuckled at the perceived joke, but when the others confirmed that he wasn't joking, he stared in the Seer's direction with an exceedingly hostile glare.

"We should have left her behind," Arc stated a little too loudly.

"We couldn't have found you without her," said Nestor. "Let it go."

"I almost agree with Arc," said Hiccup. "She's free of those warmongers but she's acting like she's been yanked out of Valhalla."

"Can you blame her for being upset?" said Astrid. "Stonefist was her father." Everyone looked at her with astonishment, catching her by surprise. "I forgot to mention that part, didn't I?"

"Why isn't anything simple with her?" sighed Hiccup, giving the blackening fish a turn on the spit.

* * *

><p>The giant metal monster held position in the frigid ocean, its myriad tentacles recessed into the superstructure. Resembling an embryonic lump of metal without limbs or form, it waited for new instructions as an arctic storm began to pelt it with flimsy sleet. Somewhere inside the bowels of the mystical war machine, its drivercommander/master brooded over his next course of action.

The Monolith hadn't been quick enough. It had taken too much time to awaken, and the powercore had eluded him. The Void take him, Arc had finally wizened up. He and his allies, his troublesome allies, had escaped with what was rightfully his.

He had set a course to follow, but he abandoned the idea once he determined how slow the Monolith traveled in the ocean. It was a machine of conquest, not pursuit. He was still learning the many unique powers of this marvelous device, but unless flying was one of them he had no hope of catching up to the powercore before he ran out of time.

Hours ticked by, and he learned more about his new home, his new toy. He _could_ pursue them in part, though not with any significant chance of success. But there was something else he could try, a time-honored technique practiced by the most ruthless of warlords.

* * *

><p>Despite the lap of the ocean on the rocks nearby calling on her to sleep, despite the stomach-yearning smells of cooked fish in her nose, the Seer remained rooted to her spot on the shoreline. The darkened sky offered her no sign of her old life; the clouds offered no solace to her pain. Fatigue and hunger were fitting punishments, emptiness for a now empty life.<p>

Cloudy. The sky, the night, and the future, all very cloudy.

Knowing the future, or parts of it, should've been a great power to have. Outfoxing your enemies, outmaneuvering disasters, outwitting the celestial plans of the Gods themselves – it should've been the greatest talent one could possess. But it was the opposite, had been so the whole time, and she couldn't understand why it should be so. Did the Gods punish those who could See? There were Gunnarr who thought so, who snidely whispered to their friends about…

"Fish."

Nestor, alone, standing nearby with the spit in hand and holding out one lonely specimen to her. He was reluctant to intrude on her solitude, but he gave her a goofy smile nonetheless.

"Last cooked one," said Nestor. "We're out of mutton jerky, by the way."

"I can hunt for myself," she replied, turning away.

"No question about that," said Nestor, leaning the fish on a rock so that it wouldn't get dirty and sitting down near her. "No reason not to eat an offered fish, either."

"Not hungry."

"Possible, but unlikely. And if you're right about us having to fight the Monolith, you'll need your strength."

The Seer looked at him again, unamused. "You're using my own arguments against me."

"Yes, I am." Nestor tried to smile again, but the depressed look on her face made him abandon the attempt. "Look, believe or not, I do understand…"

"Do not!" she hissed at him.

"Uhhh…" Nestor stammered. Did he just insult her somehow?

"I do not share feelings, and I do not need to! I am still Gunnarr, and I will deal with life as such. Now, please leave!" She looked away again, dismissing Nestor from her presence.

"Sorry to have intruded," Nestor said softly, sighing to himself as he stood up and started walking away.

"Wait, wait!" she suddenly pleaded, stopping him in his tracks. She was looking at him with sad, apologetic eyes… helpless eyes. _Probably the first time in her life she's ever felt helpless_, Nestor figured.

"I… I shouldn't act that way to you," she explained as Nestor took his spot back. "You spared my life, and that should afford you respect."

"Respect shouldn't be based on who's not killing who," said Nestor. "As I was trying to say, I understand what it's like to not have a home left to go back to."

"I suppose you do, Outlander," said the Seer. "I appreciate your concern, but if I can endure the harshest of winters by myself, I will endure this."

"As you wish." This time, he only got a few feet more before the Seer's voice rang out again and froze him in place, this time with a question.

"How did you do it?" she asked, her voice cautious and inquisitive, very un-Seer-like. "What allowed you to go on… when you had nothing left to fight for?"

"I had a friend to help me through it," said Nestor. "And eventually, I found something to stand for."

"What do _you_ stand for, Outlander?" It was an honest question, no snide tone at all.

Nestor didn't even have to think about it. ""I stand against the mistakes of the past, so that they don't harm the future. I stand between the world I care about and the ones that wish to destroy it. I stand for the one thing worth standing for… hope."

The Seer appeared more curious than inspired. Nestor dropped his serious demeanor and said, "Too corny?"

"Perhaps," she replied, "but I can't find fault with it."

After Nestor gave her back her solitude, she reached out and plucked the fish from its spit, taking out one of her daggers and expertly filleting it. Hungry or not, she did need to eat, and it was impolite to let food go to waste.

* * *

><p>Astrid started awake again, an alarmed look on her face that quickly dissolved once she became aware of her surroundings again. The half-remembered dream dissolved just as fast, something violent and disconcerting that had knocked her out of her slumber.<p>

"You okay?" asked Hiccup, still awake despite the weight of the fatigue pressing down on his eyelids. Even the diminished flicker of the fire and the steady pattern of Toothless's breathing hadn't been able to put him to sleep, the dragon having not stirred once in hours, his head on his paws and his tail curled around him. The mighty dragon deserved a long rest, what with all the constant flying and fighting he'd done in the last day.

"Yeah, just the same stupid nightmare," said Astrid, sitting up from her slouched sleeping position next to Hiccup. "You're still awake?"

"Eh, too much to think about," he said, his right hand holding a stick and drawing a simplistic picture of Berk, houses and all, in the loose earth. "Keep thinking about Dad. I hope he's not going crazy worrying about me."

"You'll see him soon," she reassured. "If Arc's right, we can head home tomorrow."

Hiccup glanced at the old dragon, who had resumed his self-designated sentry duty down by the seashore, out of earshot. "Feels like we're abandoning him. He shouldn't have to do it by himself."

"What else can we do, Hiccup? Fly next to him and offer moral support?"

"Yeah, does sound silly." He paused for a moment, lost in thought as he drew another house on his dirt picture. "This hasn't been so bad, though."

"It hasn't? Were you doing something fun when I wasn't looking?"

"What I meant was the six of us, together, fighting the good fight. It just feels right."

"Yeah, it kinda does," admitted Astrid, leaning into Toothless again and closing her eyes. "But I couldn't do this for long. I miss Berk already."

"That's the tough part," said Hiccup, adding some flying dragons to Dirt Berk's skyline. "It's funny what comes to mind, the things you start missing after a while. The view from the cliffs, the fires in the watchtowers at night, even the stink coming from the dragon stables. And yet… part of me still wants to see more of the world, see what's out there. I want to keep men like Cervantes from ruining what we've built. I want to keep showing people that you don't have to live with war or live in perpetual fear. I… I don't think I can do that from Berk. I'm not saying I want to leave, but I don't think being stuck in Berk is a good thing, either. It'd be easier with Toothless at my side… and with you…"

He had expected an argument with Astrid by now, and he wasn't getting one. He looked at her and found her asleep once again, her face in a peaceful state for now. He had no idea how much she'd heard, or if she heard anything. Feeling an impulse come over him, he brushed aside her bangs and kissed her lightly on the forehead, Astrid stirring slightly at his touch but not waking.

"But I'd never ask you to do that," he quietly added, as he rolled over and allowed his mind to succumb to his fatigue, drifting off to sleep within seconds.

* * *

><p>Trying his luck with another contemplative loner, Nestor walked down to Arc's sentry location, the dragon resting on his belly but remaining vigilant for any distant signs of disaster on the horizon. Arc's gaze found him but the dragon didn't speak as Nestor found a misshapen log to sit on, Nestor choosing to stare out to sea instead of addressing Arc directly.<p>

"I've wondered for some time now if you've wanted to get rid of me," Nestor said, deciding that the blunt approach was the appropriate one. "I guess I have my answer."

"It's time, Nestor," Arc replied, also looking out at the great waters instead of his young apprentice. "Even if you could follow me on this journey, you need your own life."

"I'll admit, I have thought about it a lot lately. But settling down somewhere? Impossible. I know it, you know it. So where am I supposed to go, Arc? Live by myself in the woods?"

"You've made allies, Nestor. They will help you for now. And when the threat is over, when I am able to come back… we can remove the field."

"What?" Nestor turned and stared at Arc, seriously shocked by Arc's statement. "You said…"

"It's dangerous, Nestor. There's no guarantee that you'll live through the process. But at this stage, I think the risk is warranted."

"_You_ may think it is, but what about me? Are you that disappointed with me?"

Arc scrutinized Nestor with a calm fatherly gaze. "I was never disappointed with you, Nestor. Everything I know about you, everything I've seen you do… I couldn't be prouder of the man you've become. In many ways, you're stronger than I am, and it troubles me that I couldn't recognize my own failings until it was pointed out to me… until you reminded me. But this is not the life you should have, and you are overdue to be freed from it."

"Freed from it?" Nestor shook his head, denying Arc's interpretation. "You make it sound like it's a prison. And this talk about the life I _should_ have? I _had_ no life before you came along, and what I did have wasn't happiness and joy. Yes, our lives are difficult, and there are times I hate it. Yes, I have no chance at normalcy while I'm with you, not that I had much of a chance at it before. And, yes, you're not exactly easy to live with. But I believe in what we're doing, and if you haven't noticed there are others who believe in it as well. We've done a lot, and we can do a lot more. I'm not going to risk my life just so things are easier, but I will risk my life so that things are _better._"

Arc sighed and closed his eyes, though the slight smile he wore suggested he wasn't disappointed in his protégé's attitude. "It could be a very short life for you, Nestor. Even with your power, even with mine, the next battle can always be your last one."

"I'm aware," said Nestor. "But I'm starting to think I might just outlive _you_, old man." The smile on his face belied his words.

Arc snickered at the young man's well-deserved bravado. He was happy to keep Nestor at his side, happier than he would ever willingly let on. But at some point in the last few days, something had switched over between them. Maybe it was something in Arc, perhaps something in Nestor, or even something in both of them, but the change was there, ready to be born and grow. All it needed was some air and an official declaration.

"If this is your choice, then so be it," declared Arc. "Come the morrow, we will set off together once more, to lure the Monolith to its eventual extinction. But I must add one new condition – that you are no longer my protégée."

Nestor frowned, unsure of what that meant exactly. "So what are we, then?"

"We are Arc and Nestor, or Nestor and Arc if you like," said Arc lightly. "We are partners, not master and student. Keep in mind, this may not be fortuitous for you. I tend to be far less kind to my friends than to my pupils."

Nestor grinned, happy to see that the dragon he once knew had returned to him. In the lonely and frequently hostile world he inhabited, it made all the difference.

* * *

><p><em>Wake up, Hiccup<em>.

Hiccup did just that, the fleeting voice a whisper in his mind as he groggily opened his eyes on the new day. He could've stood to sleep longer, all morning if allowed, but with the sun well above the eastern horizon he couldn't afford to lounge about too much longer.

His living bed had ceased its relaxing breathing, Hiccup realized. The camp was still asleep, Astrid still dozing next to him, Nestor and the Seer parked around the fizzled fire, Arc remaining at the shore. But Toothless was definitely awake, a low growl vibrating through his tummy and alerting Hiccup to a threat.

"Toothless?" he asked, the dragon responding with another growl as he faced off with something nearby, Hiccup's vision blocked by the dragon's bulk. Standing up to see, he immediately put a hand to his mouth to stifle a yelp, then immediately put his hand back down upon realizing that he might want to get everyone's attention.

"Guys, wake up!" he yelled. "Wake up! Situation right here!"

The others stirred, making grumpy inquiries and complaints until they stood up and saw what Hiccup was referring to. The Seer's weapons flew into her hands, Astrid picked up her axe, Nestor's right arm began to glow orange, and Arc came bounding back from the shore, blocking the thing's egress route. Hiccup, not armed with anything, stood by his well-armed dragon and waited for something to happen.

Another dragon skull had arrived in their midst, floating between a pair of evergreens and watching them like an unabashed voyeur. Nearly identical in shape and size to the Terrible Terror skull that had orchestrated an attack on Hiccup's Dragon Squad, its metallic composition suggested that it wasn't a product of necromancy. Its hollow eyes were devoid of any darkness, the skull less intimidating than its predecessor simply for appearing so… artificial. Of course, the fact that it was here, floating before them, was plenty intimidating.

"Must be from the Monolith," said Arc. "A scout, most likely."

"Not a very good one," said the Seer. "We know of its presence."

"I don't think it's here to scout," said Nestor. "It's here for some other reason."

"Why does it look like that?" said Astrid.

"Cervantes is in control," said Hiccup. "I guess he's going with what he knows."

The skull's mouth opened wide, releasing a rainbow-tinged light stream that widened and contorted until it formed the now supremely-familiar image of Cervantes's upper torso and head. Different medium, same old Cervantes. This time, though, there was no confident smile or condescending attitude. The old necromancer had a stern edge to him, like a sage about to verbally berate his pupils.

"If you're seeing this message, then I'm speaking to Archibald and his allies," said Cervantes. "I cannot communicate with you directly, not through the Monolith, so this will have to suffice. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you've surmised my plans. I imagine you think yourselves clever, having already found my Achilles Heel. I admit that I was forced to rush things, to activate the Monolith before I could get my hands on the second powercore, and now you've taken it far from my reach. I do find that distressing, but then no plan ever survives intact.

"So I've decided to make use of the might I have with the time I have. I would love to send it after you, but I'll have to settle for something closer. If the Void requires that I fall, be assured that I will not fall alone. Keep in mind that the image you're about to see was created several hours ago, and by now the Monolith will be well on its way to the following destination."

The picture changed to a daytime ocean perspective, flying just above the gyrating waves. An island in the center of the picture grew larger as the image neared it, an inhabited island complete with tall cliffs and a sturdy dock and lots of tiny figures moving about their lives without any idea of what was about to hit them.

If Hiccup's heart didn't stop outright upon sight of the island, it surely had to have slowed to a crawl.

"I am never cruel without cause, but I can be _very_ cruel indeed," said Cervantes, his last words before the message winked off and the skull self-disintegrated into a puff of sparkling shards.


	18. Standing Against

**Author's Last Notes (well, except for the ones at the end of the story): **Phew! Even with that three-week lead time, I just barely got this done. The new school year has turned out to be a banner year for subbing. Good thing I gave myself lots of time to get this right, but you all can be the judge on how _right_ I got it.

I went with three chapters after all. The pacing needed that last chapter. The rest of my notes (and the answer to a burning question I know a few readers have at this point) will be at the end of the last chapter, so as not to spoil anything.

Onwards... for the last time.

**Chapter Seventeen: Standing Against**

It only took Snotlout a day to realize the real truth about leadership: easy to criticize, hard to actually pull off.

"Ruff, Tuff, tighten up a bit," he yelled out to the wayward Zippleback riders, who were losing formation cohesion and drifting away from his Nightmare due to - surprise, surprise - another pointless argument. What was it over this time, the color of the sky?

Off his other wing, Fishlegs and Chomps diligently kept in line, though mostly because Fenrir was flying at half his cruising speed. Even then, the smaller dragon was huffing and puffing from the long flight, not built to glide like other dragons. But Fishlegs refused to be counted out of the scout flight, fretting about Hiccup and Astrid and the growing list of bad things that could have happened to them.

Scouting – just another word for _boring_. Spending hours over vast stretches of flowing sea, hoping to spot one overdue black dragon and his two riders. If he didn't feel a pestering sense of duty to Hiccup and Astrid after all their flights together, he might have given up already and sent the squad off to dive-bomb patrol ships or something else Hiccup would never allow in a million years. Instead, his voice was getting hoarse from screaming at Ruff and Tuff to keep their heads in the game for the seventh time this flight.

He'd give it another hour, and then they'd turn back home. Hopefully he didn't lose it before then.

"Are we further north than yesterday?" remarked Fishlegs, looking off to the northern horizon.

"Shouldn't be," replied Snotlout. "Same route as yesterday. I may have fallen asleep during navigation training, but I know all the local landmarks."

"It's a _sheep_, boogerlips," came Ruffnut's insult, dislodging the conversation.

"No, it's a wolf in sheep's clothing, hair muncher," countered Tuffnut.

"That makes no sense," said Ruff. "It looks nothing like a wolf."

"That's the point," said Tuff. "It's a good disguise."

Already regretting his close proximity to the twins, Snotlout almost asked what they were bickering about when he found the answer floating in the sky to the west. It was a lonely cloud, thick and squat with leggy parts that gave it a slight resemblance to one of Berk's common livestock.

They were arguing over a cloud. Wonderful.

"You sure we're not further north?" Fishlegs asked again.

"Yes!" admonished Snotlout. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

"I see an island I don't recognize." He pointed to the north, where his attention had been for the last few minutes.

"C'mon, Fishlegs," chided Snotlout, "you know there aren't any islands this close to Berk."

"I'm serious," insisted Fishlegs, "there's something out that way. It's big and… you can see the sun glint off it at the right angle."

"The sun glinting off an island?" Snotlout sighed. As soon as Hiccup got back, he was resigning his post.

"You have to stare at it for awhile… See? Did you see that? More sun glinting." Fishlegs adamantly pointed at the so-called island in the distance, as if pointing at it more would make him seem less crazy.

Deciding to humor him in order to kill the discussion, Snotlout diverted his eyes that way but didn't see anything remotely like an island. There was a grayish or silver-tone streak, but that could be anything – shipwreck, odd-colored kelp bed…

A glint.

Snotlout squinted, knowing that he was enabling Fishlegs but now curious about the object in the distance. There was a shine to the indistinct mass of… something. Fishlegs was right about that.

"What are you two staring at?" asked Tuffnut, the twins' argument having mercifully ended.

"There's an island out there," said Fishlegs.

Ruffnut snickered. "C'mon, guys, you know there aren't any…"

"I know!" said Snotlout, losing what little cool he had left. "But you know what? We're going to go look anyway, because otherwise I'm going to have Fenrir eat one of you."

As the squad veered toward the mystery spot in the ocean, Tuffnut leaned in toward his sister and whispered, "You're right, sis. He's a lot more fun to rile up than Hiccup."

Almost half-an-hour later, the three dragons and their riders were within spitting distance of the strange mass in the ocean, and none of them had any clue what to make of it. Snotlout thought it was a huge chunk of metal drifting through the ocean, which didn't make any sense. Didn't metal sink? Wasn't that why boats were made of wood? All that he was sure of was that it was shiny, _big, _and… moving. The wake the thing was leaving behind was massive, capable of swamping any longboat that tried to cross over it.

"Reminds me of that one time Gobber left his hook-arm on his forge during a dragon raid," said Tuffnut. "By the time he pulled it out of the fire, it kinda looked like that."

"I think something terrible lives on that thing," said Ruffnut. She smiled mischievously and added, "Let's get closer."

Snotlout didn't think it was such a hot idea. Something in the water was pushing the island along, flippers or tendrils or the like. Islands moving themselves? Icebergs he could get, but not this. But the thing's general direction was more or less Berk, which meant it could be a threat. He needed to tell Chief Stoick something other than _there's an island-sized chunk of metal swimming our way._ One flyover couldn't hurt.

As a group, they dropped altitude and flew to within a few dozen feet above the face of the island, the vacant metallic landscape making the dragons fidgety and uneasy. Snotlout could relate – something about the thing made him feel like he was being watched, though there wasn't a single animal crawling on it.

"Any thoughts, Legs?" he asked as they neared the raised center of the island.

"It's not a dragon," said Legs.

"Thanks, I couldn't have figured _that_ out," Snotlout snarked back. "Just your best guess, Legs. What are we dealing with?"

"Um…" Fishlegs took a moment to consider, nervously tapping his pudgy fingers on his helmet. "Okay, it looks like it's made of the same metal as those shards Hiccup showed us. That can't be a coincidence. The surface is made to look like an island, probably for camouflage, but I'm betting that this thing…"

Chomps swerved to the right suddenly as a giant tentacle formed out of the metal ground, growing tens of yards long in seconds and swiping at the little Gronckle. The tentacle missed him by inches, Fishlegs saved by his dragon's instincts.

"… SPROUTS TENTACLES TO KILL US!" screamed out Fishlegs.

"CLIMB!" ordered Snotlout, and for once there were no arguments. Other tentacles came out of the island, seeking to pluck the dragons right out of the air, but the squad outdistanced them before they could get halfway to their prey. Soon there was a grotesque army of inhuman limbs that had literally come out of nowhere, hundreds of them, all reaching up toward the fleeing dragons.

"We're going back _now_!" declared Snotlout. "Berk needs to know about this yesterday!" He was trying to think clearly while his body reflexively quivered with terror. It wasn't helping that his faithful mount, Fenrir, a Nightmare who loved the thrill of combat, was also quaking beneath him.

* * *

><p>The metal island came within viewing distance of Berk a few hours later, the monstrous thing following the coastline a couple dozen miles out to sea and hiding behind one of the reefs that surrounded the island. <em>Hiding<em> couldn't be what it was doing, though, as it was clearly visible beyond the reefs and Stoick expected the reefs to give the devil no more trouble than a pebble in the boot could keep him from swinging a warhammer.

From atop a cliff on the far side of the village, he watched the thing settle into position. The thing – he might as well call it what it. The Monolith, the ancient weapon Hiccup had warned him about. It couldn't be anything else. It had come to Berk, alone, with no sign of Gunnarr escorts or any indication that Hiccup, or his allies, was nearby.

Hiccup. Where was the boy? How stupid he had been to let Hiccup go on that fool's errand. For all he knew, Hiccup had already tried to stop the Monolith and his body now floated out in the breakers of some foreign…

No, he couldn't do this right now. For his people, he had to be chieftain. His people needed him to be Stoick the Vast, not Hiccup's father. Though it pained him, he absolutely couldn't think about his son's fate, couldn't think about what the Monolith's appearance and his son's disappearance implied.

Behind him, Berk was in an orderly panic. Warriors were grabbing their weapons and mounting their dragons, forming ranks based on dragon type and experience. Free-ranging dragons were clustering together in packs and flocks, some ready for a fight and others ready to flee. Most of the dragons remembered Red Death, the Tyrant Dragon of the North, all too vividly. Something far bigger, and much worse, had just arrived at their new nest.

"Whatever it is, it's smart," remarked Gobber to his side, outfitted with a war axe on his interchangeable arm. "Well out of range of our catapults. Then again, it can't do much from all the way out there."

"It's up to something," said Stoick. "It didn't come here to sightsee."

"Must be trying to lure our ships and dragons out where it can maneuver."

"If it wants us, it'll have to come get us," declared Stoick. "We have the high ground, and we're keeping it."

"At least the Gunnarr haven't shown," remarked Gobber. "Thank Odin for small favors. We're going to have a hard enough time keeping the dragons in their ranks without Hiccup to…" Gobber quieted upon seeing his friend's distressing expression. Knowing his friend's concerns, he patted his friend on the shoulder with his non-lethal hand.

"The lad's okay, Stoick. I know it in my heart. There's no Viking out there more resourceful than him."

Regardless of whether the optimism was justified or not, Stoick accepted the support without comment. Shoving his fears into his inner fortress of emotional repression, he considered sending a recon flight out to investigate the Monolith. Snotlout and his friends hadn't given him much to go on, but he feared that any dragon he sent out would be one less dragon at his disposal. He might need every fire breather he had.

"You think you know how the world works," said Stoick, "and then something like this happens. All my life, I thought I understood what made a Viking a Viking, what a dragon was only good for, and what men were and weren't capable of creating. Not long ago, I would have rushed out to meet that thing. Now I wait around like an old man."

"We're not the spring chickens we used to be, that's for sure," observed Gobber. "Nothing wrong with that."

"I should have listened to him, Gobber," said Stoick. "Hiccup was right… again. I should have mobilized us for war, taken down that fleet while we had the chance. I had the opportunity to be my old self again, and I turned away."

"You were being the responsible leader you needed to be," rebutted Gobber. "No one but the Gods knows how life will turn out… and personally, I'm not sure the Gods know, either."

Movement from the Monolith ended the conversation. The island remained stationary, but something was emerging from its surface. Snotlout had talked of tendrils or tentacles that could tower into the sky, but there was nothing to grab out there. Surely the great metal beast couldn't extend its reach all the way to Berk… could it?

The "something" wasn't a tendril. It was miniscule compared to the Monolith, but it was unattached to its creator, floating or flapping freely. The speck rose further upward, and it was soon joined by other specks… then dozens of specks… and then _hundreds_ of specks. Stoick's heart picked up the tempo as he witnessed the army of specks grow bigger as they raced toward Berk. He didn't know much about the Monolith or its powers, but he recognized an invasion force when he saw one.

"To your positions!" Stoick cried out, charging back to the village. "To the air! The enemy comes!"

"Good thing I decided not to wear clean undies today," commented Gobber, hobbling after his old friend.

* * *

><p>The dragons of Berk took to the air to meet the oncoming threat, a great flight of reptiles surging from the village like bees pouring from a hive. Close to five-dozen had riders, less than half of their total air power. It was hard to say how the riderless dragons would react, but these were the loyal ones, the dragons willing to lay down their lives for their nest and their friends.<p>

Nadders and Nightmares led the way, soaring past the slower Zipplebacks and Gronckles. A few Terrible Terrors flew alongside their bigger brothers, though most of them hung back at the village. The sole exception to this pattern was the Dragon Squad, Snotlout leading the way on Fenrir, the twins to his left, Fishlegs to his right. They stayed in the middle of the flight, none of them eager to engage the Monolith's forces after their morning encounter, and especially not with their squad down two members… the _good _ones.

"Keep close and make your shots count," said Snotlout, talking to himself as much as to his squadmates. "Today, we show them what this squad can do."

"Dying's not part of that, right?" said Fishlegs.

_I hope not,_ Snotlout thought to himself, but he didn't say it. No sense in tempting destiny.

The enemy shapes quickly grew definition and form, Snotlout recognizing them just as the two opposing armies crashed against each other. There was no mistaking the skeletal, reptilian nature of the attackers, almost identical to the ones he had fought before, though this time they were made of shining metal. Metal-bone dragons, their wings beating the air and their jaws wide and heavily fortified with row after row of deadly teeth. Each one was symmetrical and uniform, as if forged from the same mold. Living metal things like that skele-bull monster Hiccup encountered. Snotlout now regretted not having taken Hiccup's tale seriously.

A handful of the metal skele-dragons were larger versions, the same horrific shape but three times as big and carrying clumps of excess metal in their ribcages, filling the spaces in-between their ribs. These ones flew higher than their smaller allies, trying to avoid the battle as much as possible but still heading towards Berk. Snotlout couldn't figure out their intentions. How could you attack Berk from that height?

Soon enough, his thoughts became centered on not dying as dragon scales crashed against metal skin above the teeming ocean. The lead dragons opened up and spewed flaming death at the oncoming horde, scoring some hits in the initial attack. Liquid fire stuck to the metal and ate it, causing several metallic monsters to spiral down into the sea while others literally exploded into fragments and dust. But the barrage barely thinned the great multitude that rushed into the fray.

The metal skele-dragons didn't have breath weapons, not like the ones Snotlout fought previously. These ones were far from helpless, though, and Snotlout watched a riderless green-hued Nadder get rammed by two skele-dragons, the monsters clawing and snapping as they dragged the poor dragon down to an unknown fate below.

The two armies splintered into dozens of individual battles, dragon tailing monster, monster tailing dragon. Despite being significantly outnumbered, the dragons held their own with their fire breath and their tenacity, riders acting as lookouts and leaders. The experienced warriors fired arrows from their bows or bashed a skele-dragon's head when one got too chummy, but their weapons ineffectively bounced off the unnatural steel. Dragon claws and teeth were useless, not even taking the shine off the metal. Most riders figured this out early on and stuck to commanding their dragons. But not all dragons were such quick learners and a few paid for their natural inclination to bite and scratch with their lives.

Fenrir took out one skele-dragon with a well-placed blast to its head, the monster exploding into shards as Snotlout and his group struggled to stay in formation. Snotlout had to resist the urge to take off on his own – he might not like being in charge, but he was still the squad leader. Hiccup must have rubbed off on him, an irritating notion that made him want to bathe… and he hated baths. Even worse, he was actually missing the guy. That made him feel even more unclean.

"What are those things doing?" asked Ruffnut, referring to the bigger skele-dragons, the ones he was calling heavies, which were passing over their heads without engaging. Their smaller cousins were sufficiently distracting the other dragons so that no one was attacking them. Snotlout didn't understand what they were up to, but he couldn't dismiss the possibility that they were bad news for Berk.

The Zipplebacks and the Gronckles were having a hard time against small, fast-moving targets, though they could keep the nimble skele-dragons at bay for the most part. But against big, slow-moving targets? They might be murderous.

"Go after the heavies," he ordered. "I'm staying here."

"What happened to sticking together?" said Tuffnut.

"We're playing to our strengths," said Snotlout. "Hurry up, before those things reach Berk."

There was no further discussion as Fishlegs and the twins flew after the heavy skele-dragons. Hoping he hadn't just made a colossal blunder in leadership, but also thrilled to be free of the burden, Snotlout twisted Fenrir around and went after the nearest skele-dragon. He was back to doing what he did best: making life miserable for others.

* * *

><p>The grounded Vikings of Berk had split themselves up into various defensive positions, some manning catapults and ballista while others lined up in ranks of archers and flankers. This was their traditional strategy against airborne adversaries. So far, the defenders were twiddling their thumbs and watching the dramatic fracas play out away from them, something the hardened Berkian warriors weren't used to.<p>

Stoick stood with Gobber and a score of his best melee fighters near the center of the village, watching the wing of heavy skele-dragons approach from on high. "Come on down here, beasties," he growled. "We'll show you the time of your lives."

"What are they going to do from up there, piddle on us?" commented Gobber. "They won't hit anything from that height." In the past, a few smarter-than-average dragons had cracked open cottage roofs or disabled catapults by dropping rocks on them, but they had to get in close to do it accurately.

A new development came in the form of two dragons flying in from behind the heavy formation and harassing one of the trailing monsters. The twins on their Zippleback did a flyby of the lagging monster, the dragon's gas-head spraying the metal beast with greenish-yellow combustion vapors. The gas clung to the metal like barnacles on a ship, discoloring the massive thing but not harming it or slowing it down.

The Zippleback moved off as the Gronckle came in, Fishlegs pointing with his "aiming stick" at the discolored monster. A red-hot blast of fire quickly connected with the beast and ignited the gas, surrounding the monster in a cloud of blistering flame. The metal beast blackened and melted, parts of it disintegrating as it soundlessly fell from the sky. The Berkians cheered for their brief triumph over the skele-dragons – a very brief triumph.

The dozen remaining heavy skele-dragons were over Berk now, spread out to cover as wide an area as possible. What they covered it with was bits of themselves, the metal clinging to their ribs abruptly dropping off and plummeting to the ground like man-sized raindrops. The majority of the metal drops fell in clusters, hitting barren patches of grass and dirt and sending puffs of earth into the air. A few unlucky houses were pelted with the metal, their roofs caving in from the damage, but the buildings and defenses were essentially left alone by the barrage.

The heavy skele-dragons finished their run and took up a circular holding pattern above Berk, Fishlegs and the twins attempting to bring down another one but finding this beast less cooperative. Stoick was too concerned with the tear-shaped metal clumps scattered amidst his village to watch. His concern drew from the fact that the clumps were moving on their own, rocking in their little craters until their tear-shaped end was upright.

Then they morphed, the metal flattening and twisting into new limbs as if a divine hand was shaping them with an invisible chisel and hammer. The metamorphosis baffled Stoick and the rest, rooting them in place as skulls and fingers, legs and feet replaced the misshapen bombs that had bombarded the village. The Monolith was married to the undead-monster motif as the metal shapes became skeletal, forming bones that were not bones and steel joints that moved on their own power. Their constant malicious grins were composed of simple human teeth, their eyes nothing but empty, hollow sockets, as vacant as their souls.

The metamorphosis soon ran its course and the ominous human skeletons began to march out of their landing craters, as tall as the biggest Viking but as skinny as flagpoles. Stoick and his warriors shrugged off their stupor and went on the attack, Stoick leading the way with his warhammer and a savage cry to action.

It was like smashing an anvil, so solid the skeleton's head was when Stoick's hammer found it. But he was good at smashing anvils, among other things, and he knocked the skeleton to the ground. The devil-empowered skeleton showed no signs of damage, though, its skinless grin unmarred. His warhammer got the worst of it, a crack running right down the middle of the head. When the skeleton stood back up and swiped at Stoick with a bare hand, Stoick blocked it with his hammer, his arms almost buckling from the power of the blow. Not bad for something with no muscle tone.

Chaos erupted all across the village as the metal skeletons quietly and methodically assaulted the village, some attacking the nearest warrior and others attacking the nearest… anything. Wagons, kegs, catapults, houses, stone wells, wooden fences – if it existed, it was fair game. The poor put-upon sheep of Berk, apathetic from centuries of being a dragon's first choice for dinner, scattered and bleated as the skeletons rampaged through the village.

The heavy skele-dragons joined the attack, ignoring the harassment from the twins and Fishlegs as they swept in. Catapults were smashed as they rammed through the comparatively weak wood, their crews jumping for their lives. Homes became piles of refuse as their top halves were sheered off, their occupants screaming and fleeing into the open. Arrows and ballista made impact with the heavies and broke against their nigh-indestructible armor.

Even against such overwhelming power, Vikings can be incredibly stubborn. The warriors went at the creatures as if there were any other foe, beating them into the ground, throwing them off cliffs, tripping them and burying them in rubble. Catapult rounds sailed into the skele-dragons and knocked them off course, albeit briefly. Shields splintered, axes cracked, swords bent and shattered, but the Vikings would not yield their home to the devils. Not once in three centuries, and not now.

Stoick picked up one of the infernal things, the skeleton squirming in his iron grip, and bashed it against another one. A desperate move, but he was pleased to see the skeleton's metal skin buckle and cave when used against its fellow monstrosities, and he reduced the two skeletons to twisted heaps in short order.

At Stoick's back the whole time, Gobber broke his arm-axe off trying to bludgeon a skeleton into submission. Gulping at his wooden stub, he suddenly ran off to a nearby stable, disappearing inside as if trying to hide from the scourge. But before Stoick could come up with a single unkind thought, he reemerged with a dozen little dragons running at his feet. The Terrors, not the bravest of dragons, had been taking refuge within, and Gobber had somehow roused them into following him.

Right at his feet was a red-scaled Terror, cocking its head at him as if awaiting orders. Gobber pointed at an advancing skeleton and said, "Bitty, get the rat!"

Bitty had to have known that the thing in front of her wasn't a rat, but she sure didn't act like it. A lively flame erupted from her mouth and took the skeleton's leg out from under it. She followed up with a second blast that incinerated the thing's head as it crawled toward Gobber, causing the skeleton to explode into fragments.

The other Terrors got the idea and turned their fire breath on the nearby skeletons, felling several of them toot suite. More Terrors in other parts of the village did the same thing, giving the villagers a quick respite from the assault. But the Terrors couldn't keep it up, their flames exhausted in two or three attacks, and they could do nothing against the heavy skele-dragons that ruled the air.

A group of nine metal skeletons marched toward Stoick, having lost interest in the scampering sheep and wanting a crack at the Viking that was destroying them. The men around him were injured and weaponless, barely capable of standing, much less fighting. All the persistence and cleverness in the world wasn't going to win this battle, not against something this powerful… this _hateful_.

The dock was a wreck, several skeletons and one heavy having torn apart the ramps connecting the cliffs to the dock and rendering their ships inaccessible. They could run for the forest, but the devils would only pursue and pick them off. Rescue could come from the dragons, but only if they lived long enough to try, and that assumed the dragons would win the battle.

He was out of weapons, out of options… out of hope.

"We're doing _this_ again, are we?" muttered Gobber, taking his place at his old friend's side as the skeletons advanced on them. "Buying time for everyone to retreat?"

"Where could we go, old friend?" said Stoick.

"Good point," said Gobber, raising his broken arm-axe threateningly at the skeletons. "I'm just glad the rest of me didn't get eaten before my time came up."

"I'm just glad Hiccup isn't here to see this," said Stoick, raising his fists as the skeletons came on… or would have, had the group not exploded into molten bits and shards in a sudden flash of blue flame.

Dumbstruck for the moment, Stoick and Gobber stood and gaped at the fragmented remains of the skeletons, disbelieving their luck. Then Stoick looked to the sky and knew it had nothing to do with luck. A welcoming black shadow flew by with a welcoming face riding on top of it. The shadow sent another fireball into a second cluster of skeletons as it passed overhead, reducing them to wreckage.

"I take it back," said Stoick, smiling. "I'm _very_ glad Hiccup is here to see this."

* * *

><p>Driven by panic, driven by fear, driven by the deep desire to defend their home and friends, they had flown as fast as dragonly possible. No stops, no rest, no complaints. The weather had been perfect, a Gods-sent tailwind at their backs, and their course had been a straight shot all the way back to Berk.<p>

Even with all that, they had nearly arrived too late. Nearly.

"They're getting hammered," yelled out Nestor as they neared the outskirts of the village, once more riding Arc along with the Seer. Hiccup, Astrid, and Toothless flew right next to them, all of them dismayed at the state of their home. But the village still had plenty of fight in it. There was still hope.

"This is its true power," replied Arc. "The Monolith creates Guardians from its own body, all slaved to the one in control. It is an army onto itself."

The Monolith sat miles away from the battle, apparently content with sending its minions to destroy Berk, minions born from its own mass. While the revelation that the Monolith had such a power was no surprise, thanks to the visitor the group had received earlier in the day, the sheer magnitude of the problem was almost too much to bear.

"We need to get the dragons back here," said Hiccup. "I'll make one pass and then go help out." The chaotic air battle in the distance was his obvious objective.

"We need to find Beatrix," said Astrid. "I can't do much stuck behind you."

"I've got the ground game," said Nestor, holding Astrid's axe in his hands. He had it for a previously discussed reason. Nestor wasn't one for using weapons, but there was someone else who could put it to good use.

"As do I," said the Seer, as grim faced as ever.

"I'll provide air support," said Arc. "Looks like I'm going to be plenty busy."

They exchanged glances with one another, nobody saying goodbye or good luck. They didn't need to. The odds were bad, the threat incredibly dire, and the likelihood of survival thin, but there was nothing to do but leap once more into the fire.

"See you all when it's over," remarked Hiccup, putting Toothless into a dive and peeling away.

"Optimist," muttered Arc, following Toothless through the dive and then breaking off to land and deploy his two riders.

Hiccup's pass came and went faster than a dragon could swallow a fish, destroying three large groups of skeletons with full-power fireballs. He saw his father battling away at the Monolith's minions, a figure of steadfast determination amidst the insanity of battle. He locked eyes with him as he flew on, both of them conveying their relief at the other's momentary safety. Tempted to stay and help his dad clean out Berk, he forced himself to trust Nestor, Arc, and the Seer to the task until he got back.

One of the heavy skele-dragons had the unfortunate luck of lining up right in front of Toothless as he banked towards the main air battle. A fireball to its spine blew it in half.

"Needle-in-a-haystack time," said Astrid, frantically looking for Beatrix in the middle of the airborne chaos. She presumed the dragon would be in the thick of it… and that she hadn't fallen in battle. It didn't help that there were lots of Nadders flying about and sending skele-dragons to a watery junk pile. Hiccup helped along the search by tailing riderless Nadders, frying any skele-dragons that got close. Each Nadder they inspected proved to be the wrong color or had the wrong number of spikes on its tail.

"Where is she?" Astrid asked, her tone increasingly fearful. Had Beatrix flown away from the battle? Unlikely. Her Nadder loved a tussle almost as much as a Nightmare. The more likely possibility, and the more depressing one, was that…

A firm, insistent _SQUAWK!_ greeted them from above. Astrid sighed with relief as a saddled, sky blue Nadder descended, matching speed and height with Toothless. The Nadder squawked again, expressing her desire to have her rider back on board. She had a few new jagged scratches along her scales but showed no serious signs of injury.

"Your ride's here," said Hiccup, moving Toothless above and slight ahead of Beatrix so that Astrid could jump down to her. Not the safest of moves, but they couldn't afford to be safe right now. Astrid unhooked her harness and readied to jump, though she paused long enough to give Hiccup a quick squeeze from behind. Hiccup hoped it wouldn't be the last.

With her usual precision, she nailed the saddle and hooked her harness on seconds before Beatrix veered away to blast another skele-dragon into oblivion, the debris cloud coating Astrid and Beatrix with sparkling dust.

"Do we have a plan?" yelled Astrid, casually brushing her clothes off.

"No," yelled back Hiccup. "But I figured frying every shiny thing in the air would be a good start."

"I like it," she said, and two of them began the frying in earnest.

* * *

><p>The animated metal skeletons had taken serious losses thanks to Toothless, but there were still plenty of them to go around. Stoick and Gobber were already facing off five more of the devils with nothing but their fists and harsh language when a flashing dagger suddenly sailed past his nose, the weapon cutting right through the first skeleton's ribcage as if it was made of hay. It went through another one on its return trip, causing it to collapse in front of Stoick and writhe on the ground, not quite robbed of its false life.<p>

One lively flash of orange later, Nestor was in front of Gobber and pounding his fist into a third skeleton while kicking a fourth one. The metal yielded to his barrier field, disintegrating in his hands.

The fifth skeleton was taken aback by these newcomers and hesitated, perhaps reassessing its tactics. Nestor took the moment to turn to Stoic and give him a respectful nod. "Chief."

"Nestor," reciprocated Stoick.

Nestor held out his left hand, the one holding Astrid's myssteel axe, and offered it to Stoick. "I was told to give you this… and to tell you that, no, you can't keep it."

Stoick took it and felt its heft, quite skeptical that any weapon of use could feel so light. But then he remembered the amazing weapon that Astrid had used in the Trial, the one Hiccup had mentioned to him. In all the confusion and discord that came afterward, he never bothered to ask Hiccup about it. Now he wished he had.

Letting every ounce of simmering rage in him rise to the surface, he gripped the axe in both hands and rushed the fifth skeleton, swinging the axe in a sideways chop that took the thing's head off. The skeleton subsequently flew apart at the seams.

Stoick stared at the axe and laughed, feeling like he was eight years old again and experiencing the excitement of playing with his very first axe. "I have to give this back?" he said.

Rallying his warriors around him, Stoick took the battle to the Monolith's Guardians, systematically purging the horde from the village. Gobber and his men grabbed what broken pieces of myssteel they could find and joined Stoick in slashing and chopping their enemy into ruin.

Nestor and the Seer went at it alone, picking off individuals or small groups that escaped Stoick's wrath. They worked in concert, the Seer throwing out her daggers with that incredible grace she possessed, ridding the world of skeletons at the rate of two or three monsters a throw. Nestor destroyed any skeletons that intruded on their personal space or finished off any damaged ones. The minions seemed to flock toward the greatest threats, so hunting them down wasn't an issue.

"Admit it, you never saw any of _this_ coming," commented Nestor, wringing the neck of a nearby skeleton.

"Your levity is unprofessional," said the Seer, slashing apart her twentieth skeleton.

"It's not levity," countered Nestor, stomping another skeleton into the dirt. "It's… gallows humor."

"Try to find the humor _now_, Outlander," she said, waving at their newest problem. Not a skeleton, those were largely scrap metal now, but one of the heavy skele-dragons had noticed their skeleton-demolishing ways and was baring down on them from the sky, its hind legs endowed with dagger-sized claws and poised to kill whoever it snagged. It was the only one to show up since Arc took off to engage them, but it would be upon them very shortly.

"Who's it after, me or you?" said Nestor.

"Does it matter?" said the Seer.

"Trust me, it does"

The Seer analyzed the skele-dragon's trajectory and came up with an answer. "You, I believe."

Nestor smirked. "Good. Stand right here, will you? I'm sure you'll know what to do."

He whirled around and ran away, though not with any mystical assistance. He wasn't trying to escape, the Seer realized, but to lure the creature right over her head. It accommodated him, the skele-dragon shifting its flight to pursue, ignoring her completely. Quite the mistake, it would learn.

Her daggers lashed out, her timing perfect and her accuracy true. The blades flew up and parted the skele-dragon's left wing from its spiny torso, the monster going into a spin and crashing to the ground, plowing through the well-pulped ruins of one Berkian cottage. Far from destroyed, not even stunned, the metal beast righted itself and swiveled to attack the Seer, knocking down more of the wrecked house in the process.

Nestor came at it from behind, leaping on its back and running along its narrow spine until he reached its dragonoid head. Kneeling down, he grabbed under the thing's neck, then lifted up and twisted. The skele-dragon didn't even get in one buck or lurch before its head tore from its body, Nestor tossing it aside and jumping off as the headless monster dissolved into a pile of glittering fragments on top of the ample pile of wreckage.

"Learned that technique the hard way," said Nestor, wiping myssteel dust off his hands and onto his shirt.

"You lead a strange life, Outlander," said the Seer, a smidge of levity in her tone.

A localized calmness came over Berk as Nestor and the Seer watched Stoick cut down the last standing skeleton, the villagers cheering as Berk was freed of the Monolith's army. But the battle was far from over, as the explosions and screams rocking the atmosphere demonstrated.

* * *

><p>Yet another skele-dragon exploded ahead of Fenrir, Snotlout covering his eyes and holding his breath as he traveled through the latest cloud of gray smoke and shimmering particles. Breathing in the acrid smoke from his kills was like breathing in broken glass, and he quickly learned to avoid it when possible. Hopefully it wasn't hurting Fenrir, but then Fenrir breathed out fire for a living. A dragon's throat was a lot tougher than a human's.<p>

He could barely take a breath between killing one skele-dragon and queuing up another. How many was it now, ten, twelve? He'd actually lost count. Too busy trying to keep himself and everyone else alive.

The dragons were making some headway against the skele-dragons, the air thick with that intolerable gas residue, but there were still too many of the things. Fenrir didn't have much fire left in him, maybe three or four good shots. After that, what was he going to do? Stick his tongue out at the things? The other dragons faced the same problem. Their melting fire breath had given them a big advantage against the skele-dragons' superior numbers. Without it, their odds of survival were worse than standing in an arctic blizzard without a fur coat.

Fenrir's sudden screech of panic focused Snotlout on the flock of skele-dragons heading right toward him. Seven or eight of them diving in from above, their jaws snapping in anticipation. Way, way, _way_ too many to handle.

Snotlout had Fenrir veer off toward the island, hoping to outrun them on an open stretch of sky. No such luck. They were gaining instead, only a few dozen feet behind him. Fenrir was chuffing as he flapped, a sign of fatigue from all the hard maneuvers and constant stress. The skele-dragons weren't alive, which meant they didn't get tired. They'd catch him eventually.

At least he'd have some bragging rights in the afterlife, in that it took eight monsters ganging up on him to take him down. But he'd much rather have bragging rights in _this _life.

Unable to come up with a plan (since thinking wasn't exactly his strong suit), he was about to consider diving into the ocean and taking his chances that the skele-dragons swam worse than Fenrir when he realized there was a black shape ahead, coming right at him. He laughed upon recognizing Hiccup and Toothless. _Nice of him to join the battle_, he thought, heavy on the sourness but also happy for the rescue.

Except it wasn't a rescue, not with what had to be over a dozen skele-dragons trailing behind Toothless. They were chasing after him with murderous fervor, the Night Fury barely out of reach. Couldn't Toothless out-fly them or something? Why was Hiccup bringing more party crashers Snotlout's way?

Then Snotlout saw Hiccup's right hand gesturing with his elbow high up, palm flat and level. _Hold course_ was the signal, Snotlout amazed that he actually remembered it. But hold course? This was a collision course!

Hiccup wasn't kidding around, though, and he repeated the signal. Lacking any alternative, Snotlout kept Fenrir straight and level, the skele-dragons practically nipping at Fenrir's tail as they extended their necks and widened their mouths. Years ago, maybe even weeks ago, Snotlout would have told Hiccup to get lost as he veered away to safety. But for whatever reason, loyalty or desperation or even actual confidence in Hiccup's leadership skills, he trusted Hiccup.

If Hiccup was wrong about this, though, Snotlout was totally kicking his butt in Valhalla.

Right as a collision seemed inevitable, right as the lead skele-dragon behind Snotlout tried to take a bite out of Fenrir's tail, Hiccup changed signals, thrusting his hand down and mouthing out the order. It was unmistakable… or so Snotlout hoped.

_Dive!_

He shoved down on Fenrir and put the dragon into a steep dive, feeling the rush of wind from the almost-collision as Toothless cleared him by mere inches. He looked behind him as the Night Fury banked upward, flying free of his pursuers. The two groups of skele-dragons couldn't react in time, several of them ramming straight into each other, others clipping or grazing their fellow metal monsters. Crippled, most of them fell from the sky in a thick shower of shards and parts.

Toothless finished his maneuver by looping all the way around and coming back at the remaining three skele-dragons, only to have his follow-up kills taken by a nearby blue Nadder with a drop-dead gorgeous rider who'd been waiting to mop up the survivors.

"That move was the craziest thing anyone's ever done… in the world… ever!" remarked Snotlout to Hiccup as they formed a V-formation with Astrid, Toothless at the lead. "But… thanks."

"Don't gush too much," said Hiccup. "You might ruin your image."

"Let's save the heartfelts for later," said Astrid. "We still have lots of…"

She broke off in mid-sentence as the airspace around them was suddenly devoid of skele-dragons, the remaining ones breaking off their attacks and heading back to the Monolith. Every single one, in one sweeping simultaneous move. A few were taken down by tenacious dragon riders, but the dragons were too spent to give pursuit and only chased them a short ways before letting them go.

Cheering Vikings and roaring dragons sang out in unison over their victory, Snotlout whooping in delight with the rest of the flyers. Hiccup and Astrid didn't join in, both of them watching the retreating metal army. Despite the apparent air victory, there wasn't much to cheer about. The Monolith loomed in the distance completely unscathed, while Berk was in turmoil, its defenders injured and worn down. It was only a matter of time before the Monolith came at them again, probably with a wave of skele-dragons that made the previous one look pitifully small.

It was a concern for later. With Berk's immediate survival still in question, Hiccup and the other dragon riders headed back to Berk, hoping there still was a village to save when they got there.

* * *

><p>Chomps's final fire blast came out like an overheated gurgle, a few embers lighting upon the side of the heavy skele-dragon that was chasing him down. With that, the Gronckle was officially out of gas, having wasted most of it trying to take down the pursuing monstrosity and not getting much bang for the barter. Six shots wasn't much in the way of ammo.<p>

"Down, down, down!" ordered Fishlegs, forgetting his aeronautical terminology in his panic. Chomps got the idea anyway and dropped altitude as the heavy skele-dragon swept by them again, this time clipping Chomps on the wing and almost stalling them. Chomps growled a complaint in response while Fishlegs squeaked out a cry of dismay.

Play to his strengths? In what part of dragon combat did he have any strength? Analysis and stats, that's where he had strength, not life-and-death struggles against semi-indestructible monsters. He had hoped for a reprieve when Toothless came in and took out a heavy, but the Night Fury was already off to the main battle before the body had finished bursting. The twins were fighting two heavies above him, having destroyed three previous ones with judicious use of the Zippleback's gas-cloud attack. That left seven more of them, most of which were making work for all the woodcutters in Berk, minus the one trying to kill him and Chomps.

One kill to his name, one that he shared with Ruff and Tuff - that's all they'll write on his memorial. He had wanted something better than that, something people would really remember him for. The Revised Dragon Manual would've covered it, but he hadn't completed it yet. Why? Dragon Squad training! Another couple of weeks and the book would've been finished. Stupid irony.

As Chomps jinxed out of the way of the heavy's newest charge, a pair of lighting bolts thundered into the underside of the skele-dragon, the electricity surging all along its body and causing it to shatter into countless pieces. The elusive Green Lightning flew through the debris cloud and halted in midair, hovering before him like a watchful Valkyrie.

If irony was in full effect for Fishlegs, so was déjà vu.

"Are you uninjured?" the dragon said. "Regardless, you should seek the village for safety. I will draw away the other Guardians."

Fishlegs was too blown away by the dragon's sudden speech skills to do more than stammer. Green Lightning patiently waited a few more seconds for a response, then rolled his eyes and started to fly off. _That_ got Fishlegs to speak.

"Wait, you talk?" he cried out. "Green Lightning talks? That's _awesome_!"

"No," Arc declared irritably, looking back at the burly youth. "No Green Lightning. Arc, please. Just Arc. When this is over, assuming we survive, we'll discuss this further."

Green Lightning/Arc dived down to engage another heavy, raking it with electric death and drawing away most of the other heavies from the village. Despite the continuing chaos flowing around him, Fishlegs couldn't help but be giddy. His second chance encounter with the strange dragon had just raised the number of questions he wanted answers for by about a million.

* * *

><p>"Any ideas, Ruff?" asked Tuffnut. "And just so we're clear, an idea is not the same as an insult."<p>

"Well, I have a lot of insults left," admitted Ruffnut, "But as ideas go…"

The twins found themselves at the center of a skele-dragon circle, two heavies flying around them like a pair of ravenous sharks circling a solitary sea lion. The Zippleback's attention was split, one head per threat, but they couldn't use a flame cloud attack without taking their eyes off of one of the heavies and getting rushed from behind. They barely avoided the first attack, and now they were stuck in an airborne standoff.

"These things learn," said Tuff. "How are they so smart without any brains in their skulls?"

"Well, how do you… no, too easy." Ruff's failure to complete her insult meant she was too scared to care, which worried Tuff. It took a lot to make his sister self-conscious enough to fear for her life.

The Zippleback gradually lost altitude as it held itself aloft, the dragon's energy quickly draining as it spun slowly around to keep the heavies in view. The encircling monsters kept matching altitude with them, preventing the two-headed dragon from breaking away. They were only a few hundred feet above Berk now, the ground getting steadily closer by the second. If they were forced down, the Zippleback, and the twins by extension, wouldn't have a chance.

"I think I have a… no, that's an insult," said Ruff. Then she suddenly brightened. "No, it's an actual idea!"

"Which is?" said Tuff.

She told him. It was risky, kind of insane actually, but since that Green Lightning dragon that had saved Fishlegs was too busy with other heavies to help out, he was willing to try it.

"Ruff," said Tuffnut, "if this goes badly, I just want to say that… you're a very annoying person." He couldn't say his real feelings, he still had a hardened warrior image to maintain, but his tone gave away what his words couldn't.

"Yeah," said Ruffnut softly, getting his real meaning, "I feel the same way."

Praying that their dragon's gas supply held out, Tuffnut triggered the Zippleback's gas jet, slowly filling the air between then and the skele-dragons with flammable vapors. The Zippleback continued to rotate, expanding the cloud around itself and surrounding the twins within a circle of stinking combustion gas. Two, three, four times around went the Zippleback, the mist growing so thick that it obscured all vision beyond it.

The Zippleback coughed out the last of its gas as it sealed the top and bottom of the circle, creating a sphere of gas with them at dead center. The vapors began wafting inward, threatening to envelope the twins in its embrace.

"Ruff?" asked Tuff, expecting his sister to light the gas at any moment and wondering why she hadn't. If they waited too long, the gas would disperse too much to be effective.

"Listen for it," she said, cocking an ear. She could hear the flap of the skele-dragons' wings as they continued to circle. No change yet in pitch or volume. They had to be inside the cloud for this to work. They had to take the bait.

"Ruff!" insisted Tuff.

"Shush!" she hissed. She listened again, reacquiring the distant flapping sound as the vapors began to tickle her nose. There was a good chance she was about to get her face fried off, but it was better than what the skele-dragons had in store for her.

THERE! The tone changed, or the flapping rate changed, or something. But the sound was getting louder for sure. They were coming in to see what had happened to their enemy. "Cover up!" she warned, Tuffnut covering his face with his hands. Ruffnut slapped her Zippleback head lightly, initiating a shower of potent sparks and flinging them into the cloud.

Just before covering her face, Ruffnut saw the world catch on fire. Yellow vapors became alive and angry, a scorching wave of heat washing over her and Tuffnut, licking at her hair and clothes. Her helmet became intolerably hot and she batted it off her head before it could burn her scalp. The Zippleback retracted its heads as far from the burning cloud as possible, screeching in terror as two flaming shapes emerged through the cloud and collided with the dragon's torso, pushing it into the flame cloud and through it.

"I'm on fire!" screamed Tuffnut. "I am very much on fire!" Thankfully he was more blackened than burnt, the flame cloud having used most of its fuel in its first seconds of life. His clothes and hair singed and smoking, he slapped away at any potential flames. Ruffnut did the same, only without the theatrics. Neither of them noticed the damage to their harnesses, more so Ruffnut's harness as its straps weakened and frayed.

Safely past the dying flame cloud, the Zippleback struggled against the momentum of the stricken heavies pushing against it. One of them slipped off and plummeted to the ground, exploding on the rocks near the docks. The second one didn't wait to land before it exploded, showering the Zippleback in red-hot debris. Its scales resisted most of the damage, but it rocked backward in surprise and pain, throwing its heads back violently.

His arms and legs clasped around the dragon's second neck for dear life, Tuffnut weathered the dragon's gyrations until it regained its control. But he watched in horror as Ruffnut's harness came loose, the force of the dragon's whipping motion sending her flying away, screaming his name as she fell towards the uncompromising ground below. The Zippleback was too stunned and reeling to react as Ruffnut plummeted, no other dragon close enough to intervene.

"RUFF!" he cried out, reaching in vain for his disappearing sister.

* * *

><p>The sky-borne fireball drew Nestor's attention to the heavens, Nestor itching to get more action rather than spectating while his friends were in mortal peril. Way above the expanding fireball, Arc was cooking up some skele-dragon stew as he sent a fifth heavy skele-dragon into explosive submission with a barrage of lightning bolts. Arc had things handled on his end, not that Nestor could have helped him from down below.<p>

Then the screaming began.

Alerted to the rapidly fading fireball cloud once more, something alive and humanoid was falling from a nearby two-headed dragon. One of the riders from the looks of it, and neither Arc nor that Gronckle he'd seen flying around were anywhere nearby.

But he was.

Pure instinct drove him, shunting every ounce of power into his legs. The ground shuddered as his feet pushed against it, propelling him forward. He rocketed past damaged homes, sidestepped startled villagers, and danced over thick piles of dust-quality myssteel. The world blurred as he pushed his power and his body to its limits, his mind calculating the best spot to jump and hoping he was right.

He smashed through the tangled wreckage of a hay wagon. He didn't even feel it. His muscles screamed for mercy, emphatically telling him that the human body wasn't built for this abuse. He ignored them. He only had seconds – he only needed seconds.

_Three._

The leap had to be precise. Perfect.

_Two_.

The one thing he couldn't do, and could never do, was fly…

_One._

… But he still had great timing.

He catapulted himself over what might have been the last intact house in Berk, his legs taking the top third of a stone chimney with him. The mild impact diverted his trajectory, forcing him to reach out to Ruffnut as he rushed by her in the air and snagged her around the shoulders, pulling her with him and changing her downward velocity into forward velocity. Her scream switched from fear to surprise as he grabbed her close and shunted everything he had into his barrier field, swiveling so that he was the one on the bottom as gravity drew them back to the ground.

"Brace yourself!" he warned, his barrier flaring intensely, Ruffnut screaming again as his body slammed the ground like a hammer might slam a nail. He gouged a path through the earth, the compacted dirt slowing him but failing to stop him. That eventuality came from the granite boulder he hit, knocking him senseless even through his field.

"Ga… blah… huuf…" was the level of discourse Nestor could talk at for a few seconds before his brain assumed control again. Ruffnut moaned once and crawled off of Nestor, sitting down a few feet away as she shook off a serious case of disorientation.

"Did… did that just happen?" she asked herself aloud. "I was falling… and now I'm not… and maybe now I'm dead."

"Not dead," said Nestor, finally sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. "But s_alo krebit_, death might have been less painful."

She looked at him, absolutely awestruck. "How… What… That was…"

"Explanations later," he explained, slowly standing up and wincing from a number of overexerted muscles. "I need to get going. You'll be all right if I leave?" Ruffnut's astonishment didn't lessen, but she managed a nod. Too fixated on other concerns, and unused to reactions to his power that didn't involve the gratuitous use of sharp objects, Nestor was unprepared by the enamored look Ruffnut gave him.

"Well…" he stammered. "Okay… bye."

Yelling out her name every five seconds, Tuffnut landed the Zippleback moments after Nestor ran off. Ruffnut didn't even respond to him when he jumped down and sprinted to her side. "Loki's Luck, you're alive," he said, resisting the urge to hug his sister because, you know, warriors didn't do that kind of thing. "Are you okay?"

She still wasn't saying anything, her eyes staring off absently at something. Tuffnut began to worry that the experience had turned her catatonic. It would have done it to him, that's for sure. But then he realized that the look on her face had no sign of fear at all, and she was watching that Outlander guy running up the hill. It took his brain a few tries to work it out, and he cringed upon comprehension.

"You have _got_ to be kidding," he said.

* * *

><p>Stoick had seen his village burn to the ground four times during his lifetime, each instance with dragons as the responsible culprits. He shouldn't have felt any worse about it than before as he estimated the damages and winced at the gaping holes in the cottages, the mauled roofing. Berkians took to rebuilding their homes like wolves took to howling, so this was just another chance at urban renewal. But he felt the destruction more profoundly this time, and he wasn't sure why.<p>

Perhaps he had fooled himself into believing the old days were behind them, that Berk had entered a new age of prosperity that didn't require such repetitious destruction. More likely, it was the Monolith's presence that soured his mood, knowing that this current pause in the action was only a respite. The dragons were arriving back at Berk, some sporting numerous injuries and flying irregularly, their riders covered in soot and sparkly dust, their heads hanging with exhaustion. Casualties had been light so far, due in no small part to Hiccup and his allies showing up when needed, but the Monolith's forces had worn them down considerably.

"The defenses are slag," said Gobber, affixing a warhammer to his utility arm so that he wasn't going around with a stub for a hand. He knew full well it would do nothing about the metal monsters. "Catapults are down, most of our weapons are busted, and the ones that aren't might as well be tossed into the drink for all the good they can do."

"Our dragons can't even burn paper with the gas left in their bellies," said Stoick morosely.

"Perhaps it's a opportune time to retreat," spoke a very different voice from above.

Too dispirited to be surprised by much, Stoick reacted rather blandly to Arc's arrival, the green dragon landing before them with little fanfare. Despite Stoick informing Gobber the previous night about Hiccup's new allies, with the added benefit of a few pints to soften the news, Gobber still screwed up his face attempting to wrap his mind around the existence of a talking dragon.

"Ye Gods, it can talk!" spoke one villager, others echoing the sentiment. Arc merely rolled his eyes once more and pressed on.

"This was never about victory, Chief Stoick," said Arc. "The Monolith cannot be stopped with our meager forces. It will produce more Guardians like the ones we just fought off. But we can delay it so that your people may escape."

"Escape where?" said Stoick. "Our closest neighbors are not on the friendliest of terms with us."

"If you mean the Gunnarr," said the Seer, walking forward out of the surrounding Vikings and standing next to Arc, "then I would agree. But the Mainland is closer." The Seer's presence was more baffling than the dragon's, but after seeing her blades cut through so many steel horrors today, no one thought to question her involvement.

"Oh, yes, the people who _really_ love Vikings," said Gobber sarcastically. "Brilliant idea."

"I'd rather risk the Mainland than the Gunnarr," said Stoick. "But we don't have enough dragons and ships available to evacuate the entire village, not before that thing launches another wave."

As the conversation continued, the nearby crowd grew in size as more dragon riders arrived and dismounted, the young Dragon Squad members among them. Astrid joined Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut and Tuffnut off to Arc's side, having returned a few seconds ago. The chatter throughout the crowd grew dark and depressing, the previous elation over their victory vanishing as talk of fleeing Berk and deciding who stayed behind took over.

Astrid was happy to see everyone still alive, though Ruff and Tuff had a singed look to them, but she began to grow concerned at not seeing Hiccup and Toothless. She had gotten separated from him on the way to Berk, Toothless dropping back and escorting some of the more wounded dragons. He should have been here by now, though.

Then she realized that Nestor wasn't present either. Had he fallen in battle? Unlikely, not with the causal way Arc and the Seer were acting. But he had less of a reason to be missing than Hiccup.

The realization that the three of them were missing, together, right after a major battle and right before the inevitable next one, was giving Astrid a bad case of the heebie-jeebies. Her gut told her that they were up to something… and it wasn't something she was going to like.

* * *

><p>Catching an updraft to buoy his tired wings, Toothless flew in a circular holding pattern above the island. Below him was a verdant clearing with a lone human figure, waving to the dragon impatiently and insistently. He'd been there for a few minutes already, waiting for the Night Fury to show up.<p>

Toothless knew he was there. So did Hiccup. They both knew time was running out. Hiccup knew what came next… what _had_ to come next… but he needed to know that Toothless was a willing participant, that he knew what was being asked. They couldn't do this without Toothless, but that didn't mean that Hiccup couldn't give him a choice. They had a break in the action, a pause before Cervantes came at them again, and they had to use it while it was still available. But he still had to give Toothless a choice.

"You understand, bud?" said Hiccup to his dragon friend. "The odds are bad this time, really bad. But this is the only chance Berk has. They won't evacuate the village in time. We have this one shot, the three of us. Nestor and I are willing. Are you?"

Toothless nodded without pause or hesitation. His solemn expression, almost borderline sad, told Hiccup what he needed to know. Hiccup leaned forward and hugged his friend around the neck, using the embrace to gather the strength he needed to be brave. To be brave for his sake, for Toothless, for Astrid and his dad, for Gobber and all his friends, for Nestor and Arc and the Seer.

For Berk.

For the world he cared about.

Nestor was about to yell at the flying black spot in the sky to get down here already when Toothless dived in and grabbed him, lifting him with his front paws and helping him climb up to his back. Nestor took a seat behind Hiccup, the two of them exchanging grim expressions as Toothless headed out to sea, right toward the silver monstrosity silently floating in the distance.

"Go ahead and grab what you need from the satchel," said Hiccup. The satchel in question was on his back, slipped over his harness. Nestor opened it and extracted both the tome-diary and the powercore, the artifact vacillating between red swirls of light and an earthier brown luminance. Nestor quickly flipped to a marked page in the tome, his fingers tracing the passage he needed for their private last-resort plan.

Before leaving their out-of-the-way resting spot and speeding to Berk, Hiccup's group had agreed to a very sketchy plan. Delay the Monolith somehow, get as many Vikings to safety, then flee and draw away the Monolith with the powercore. It wasn't much of a plan, with plenty of holes you could fly a Nightmare through, but the alternate was to do nothing and let Berk die. The Seer initially suggested that Arc fly on with the powercore, since under no circumstances could they allow it to be recovered by Cervantes, but Arc defiantly said no, forget pragmatism, he wasn't letting others die while he fled for the wilderness. Leaving the powercore behind was a bad idea, since the Monolith could track it, so it was given to Hiccup and Toothless for safekeeping. Toothless being the fastest of dragons, he had the best chance of escaping with it.

That had been the main plan, but it wasn't the _only_ plan.

_The previous evening:_

Firewood gathering was an easy chore to do when the island you're resting on hadn't ever been touched by human hands. Plenty of dead wood to go around. It was a one-person job that had become a two-person task when Hiccup volunteered to go with Nestor to refill their stock before night came on in full.

"Got a sec, Nestor?" Hiccup asked, once they were a good distance from the camp.

Bending down to grab an armful of brittle sticks, Nestor looked up from his growing pile of wood and said, "Got plenty at the moment."

"Could you put down the wood, actually?" Hiccup asked. "This is kinda sorta serious."

Nestor did as asked and stood up, perplexed. "More serious than usual, I take it?"

Hiccup nodded, lowering his voice to a whisper. "It's about what the Seer said, about the two of us and the Monolith."

"That?" Nestor glanced at the camp, making sure that no one else was close enough to hear. "She said it herself, Hiccup. Her visions don't necessarily come true."

"Her track record's been pretty good as of late, don't you think?"

"So what are you saying, that we should listen to her and head off to fight the Monolith?"

"No… but what if Arc's plan fails? What if we end up having to fight it?"

Nestor laughed unhappily. "Then I hope you've gotten what you've wanted out of life, because that's where it'll end. We fight this thing by _not_ fighting it, Hiccup. Arc's plan is sound."

"Okay, let's pretend that he's wrong. Let's say that the Monolith can just keep going and going forever, destroying everything in its path. Shouldn't we prepare for that?"

"_How_ do we prepare for that?" said Nestor.

"We start with what we know," said Hiccup, "and what we have. That Artisan diary has to have something in it, another weakness we can use."

"Hiccup, I read most of it," said Nestor impatiently. "Unless turtles are the key, that thing's pretty useless… wait…"

"Wait?" said Hiccup as Nestor made a thoughtful look. "Wait for…"

"Key," said Nestor. "The powercore is a key."

"Yes, we know that. And you use an activation phrase… which we have… and which you can speak." Nestor's thought was now Hiccup's thought, and what a thought it was. "Do you think we can still use it?"

"I don't know why we couldn't," said Nestor.

"Then we can get inside and take out Cervantes," said Hiccup, laughing at the simplicity of the plan. "Heck of a lot easier to do than taking on the whole Monolith." Then he noticed the dark look on Nestor's face. "Why are you not agreeing with me?"

"A few reasons," said Nestor. "One – something that big is likely to have internal defenses. Just because you get past a castle's walls doesn't mean the fight's over. Two – this is Cervantes we're talking about. He's no pushover, and he'll have control of the Monolith as well as his usual bag of tricks. Three – to get inside, we'd have to bring the powercore in with us, and if we screw up we'll have hand-delivered the powercore to Cervantes. And four – even if we take down Cervantes, the Monolith could keep going on its own. It's basically a Guardian, and Guardians have their own agendas. If we did this, we couldn't stop with just Cervantes."

He gave Hiccup a truly serious expression, as serious as the young man had ever given anyone. "Hiccup, there's only one thing we have in our arsenal that might do the job."

* * *

><p>No one else knew about their plan, a miracle considering how it usually took Astrid five seconds to smell a secret on Hiccup. It wasn't like they <em>wanted <em>to do this. Hiccup had hoped for an alternative, had wanted to believe that the Monolith was beatable or his people would escape before it brought its full might to bear on the village. He had hoped it would run out of steam or fire or whatever form of energy moved it along. Wishful hopes dashed by rude reality.

The metal island had begun to drift once more, pushing through the churning waves with its massive tendrils. When it came to a shoal or reef, the giant war machine would press against it and smash through the stone as easily as a man punched through a wall of paper. Tentacles emerged and flicked off the debris, the Monolith keen on preening itself. It avoided the thicker formations, taking an indirect course to Berk that sidestepped the worst of the reefs. No second wave of flyers graced the airspace above the Monolith so far, but Cervantes's intentions were clear. Still many miles out, it would arrive at Berk within the hour.

Toothless dropped low to the ocean, aiming right for the domed section at the center of the Monolith. That was where Hiccup had found Cervantes, and that was presumably where they had to go to gain entrance. Toothless let out a low growl, the trembling nature of his utterance telling Hiccup that his fearless friend was as terrified of the island as he was.

"I hope the powercore doesn't care about inflections," said Nestor, holding the crystal to his chest with one hand while his other hand held the tome open to the proper page. "I was never good with inflections."

"We'll be within tentacle range in less than a minute," said Hiccup, his stomach knotting up more and more with each speeding second. "How do we do this?"

"We pass over the island, I start reciting the phrase, and I keep doing it until the island responds… or we get horribly killed."

"As stupid-crazy ideas go, this is the big one," said Hiccup. "I'm just glad it's only us doing it." The regret in his voice was thick, his mind inundated with all the things he wanted to do, the things he wasn't going to live to see. The lands that he would never visit, the adventures he was never going to experience… the love he only had the briefest of moments to feel. Four days. They hadn't even made it four days. His future wiped out so that other futures could come to pass. Where was the fairness? Did fairness even truly exist?

"I'm just glad that, of all the people the Fates saw fit to thrust into my life, it was you," said Nestor, his grateful voice cutting through Hiccup's self-pity. "I'm very glad it was you."

They helped, Nestor's words. Not a lot, not enough to dull the regret, but they helped just the same. He was not the nuisance he once was, not the useless outcast of his people any longer. There was a village full of family and friends that needed him to be steady. There was a dragon beneath him, his truest friend, one to die for and to die with. And he had another friend behind him, one willing to sacrifice himself for a village that saw him as only an Outlander.

Hiccup reached out and gave Nestor his hand, placing his other hand on the side of Toothless's neck. Nestor took it as Toothless leaned into Hiccup's offered hand. They said no words. There was no need for them.

The sea yielded to a silver plateau, a forest of long grasping limbs beckoning at Toothless to fly lower, just a little lower. Nestor released Hiccup's hand and raised the powercore over his head, finding his place on the page once more. He cleared his throat and began to speak, only no words came from his lips – at least nothing that sounded like words to Hiccup. More like someone clicking their tongue while a dog whined to be let out of its pen.

The powercore reacted immediately to Nestor's speech, the red and brown swirls merging into a golden glow that encompassed the entire crystal. The glow was even more hypnotic than before, and Hiccup forced his eyes away from it.

Nestor recited the alien words again and again, keeping the golden crystal above his head and out of sight so as not to distract him. The island acted unimpressed, its tentacles continuing to stretch upward, its motion through the ocean unobstructed. As far as Hiccup could see, the Monolith still yearned for a Night Fury dinner, with a serving of Hiccup and Nestor on the side. Hiccup despaired as the powercore failed to pacify the island – there was no Plan B if this didn't work.

But as they glided towards the Monolith's central dome, the tendrils lost much of their enthusiasm. They slowed their gyrations and their stretching, some even shrinking and receding back into the metal surface from which they came. Nestor's indecipherable chant was acting like a lullaby to the island as the tendrils ceased their mad yearning for dragon flesh and slunk away to their hidden holes. Not all of them disappeared, only the ones after Toothless. The rest continued their various jobs, shoving the island through the water or removing debris from its surface.

The featureless dome ahead of them had gotten bigger since Hiccup last saw it. It had to be twice the size of the Great Hall, maybe bigger. Unlike the other ridges and hills that composed the surface of Monolith, the dome remained uniform and unblemished by any tendril activity. You might as well have stuck a sign on it that read "Heart Of The Island: Attack Here." Then the Monolith showed its true hospitality, the dome's curved sides forming a seam that soon split apart like a lipless mouth, spreading to create an angled hole inside the dome that could easily fit a half-dozen dragons flying wing to wing. You could have stuck another sign on it that read "Fly In Here: Don't Forget To Abandon All Hope."

Toothless gave Hiccup a dubious look, asking the obvious question. Hiccup nodded. "No sense in waiting around, bud. Just not too fast." That satisfied Toothless, though it didn't cheer him up, and the dragon proceeded to line up with the hole and slow to a flying crawl.

"Any last thoughts?" said Nestor, seconds away from the shadowed opening to Cervantes's new home.

"One," stated Hiccup. "What does _salo krebit _mean?"

"You're asking me about that _now_?"

"Probably won't get a chance later."

"True," said Nestor. "It's an Old Frank phrase meaning 'pale crayfish'."

Hiccup screwed up his face in disbelief. "Pale crayfish?"

Nestor shrugged. "Well, where I come from, you don't want to eat one of those."

Hiccup laughed aloud, Nestor joining him a moment later, as the shadow of the Monolith's mouth folded around them.

* * *

><p>Astrid saw the distant Night Fury before anyone else, her attention already drawn to the sky during her search for Hiccup. She counted two riders onboard, Hiccup and probably Nestor behind him, and they rapidly shrunk away as they headed toward the Monolith. Soon the dragon was only a nondescript dot against the gray clouds on the horizon, still moving inexorably toward the village-killing war machine.<p>

"What are they doing_?_" she exclaimed absently, her heart seizing up and her mind racing over the possibilities, the reasons behind their actions. Nothing made sense, nothing could explain why Hiccup and Nestor would take off on their own and head for the belly of the beast.

Except they _had_ to have a reason. This was Hiccup. He always had a reason.

Snotlout was the first to react to her outburst by asking what was up. When she didn't reply, he tried looking the direction she was looking and not having much luck of it. He finally noticed the moving black dot heading for the killer metal island and figured there was only one thing that could get Astrid so upset.

"Is that Toothless?" he asked. "Is that Hiccup? What _are_ they doing?"

The rest of the Dragon Squad heard him and turned to look, prompting others in the crowd to do the same. Soon the entire gathering, including Stoick and Gobber, Arc and the Seer, were looking out across the sea at the small black mark in the sky, descending low to the sea and then to the Monolith. More faces grew to resemble Astrid's fear-strewn visage as they watched Toothless fly over the island and then disappear entirely, as if the island had gobbled them up.

"By my ancestors," said Arc, his eyes wide and terrified. "They can't be serious!"

"What?" asked Stoick frantically. "What is my son doing?"

"The Dragon Rider and the Outlander are confronting the Monolith," said the Seer. "It was the only way this could end." Her voice was grave, her eyes closed and her head bowed. She offered no reassurances, and she turned from the scenery as if unable to watch further, as if she already knew the outcome.

"To the ends of the earth with your visions!" scolded Arc, though the Seer did not react to his harsh tone. "Hiccup has the powercore! They've all but given it to Cervantes!"

Astrid heard none of it. The only thing she could hear was the sound of her heart breaking.


	19. Standing Between

**Chapter Eighteen: Standing Between**

The first meeting between Hiccup and Toothless had not been under friendly circumstances, Hiccup at one point getting an intimate view of Toothless's throat when the dragon screamed out an unhappy protest at Hiccup. Traveling down the Monolith's entrance tunnel felt very much the same, like they were moving down the digestive tract of a behemoth. The polished sides had little streams of golden energy that flowed along the metal, branching out and forking into smaller streams like they were the veins and arteries of a living body. The Monolith acted way too much alive, an impossibility considering how non-organic the thing was. Then again, Hiccup had lost count of the number of impossible things that had come into his life recently.

The tunnel had narrowed considerably once they had gone past the entrance, the soothing glow from the energy streams mellowing the oppressive quality of the tunnel. The sunlight from the tunnel's opening faded as they flew deeper into the island. Toothless's head darted about, attempting to keep watch on the whole tunnel at once as if deathly afraid of something shooting out of it and ensnaring them. Considering that the war machine could make tentacles appear from anywhere on its surface, it wasn't an overreaction. The tunnel itself probably hadn't existed until Nestor used the powercore to summon it.

Nestor kept the powercore over his head, brandishing it like a holy man might ward off an evil spirit with his holy symbol. So far, no signs of aggression from the Monolith, and no sign of Cervantes at all. Hiccup didn't care if he had Odin's favor or the Fates' Luck, he just hoped it kept up a little longer.

The tunnel had an ending, it seemed. Down a ways was another wide opening that emptied into a large chamber. Their steady descent made it difficult to place their position within the war machine, though they had to be underwater by now. In the scheme of things, it didn't make much difference where they were – their chances of survival were dim no matter what.

"I'll give the Artisans credit," remarked Nestor. "When they set out to build a super weapon, they don't fool around."

Hiccup's first impression of the main chamber was that it was so… vacant. He hadn't expected to correctly guess what the heart of the Monolith might resemble, but he had expected a heart of some kind. The oval chamber was huge, capable of fitting every house in Berk within it and still maintain some room for expansion. The energy streams in the walls pulsed with a steady rhythm, furthering the living-thing impression in Hiccup's mind, but there was no device or artifact or vital organ floating in the center. There was nothing to attack, nothing to destroy – which meant no last-minute reprieve from their current plan.

No Cervantes, either. That didn't make any sense. Wouldn't the Monolith lead them to its war room or brain or wherever one goes to control the thing? Why bring them here to a vast, empty chamber? Where was Cervantes hiding?

"Not liking this," said Hiccup.

"You liked it before?" said Nestor.

"I meant that I have a feeling we're not all that in control," Hiccup clarified.

"I agree. Drop me off here and get out while you still can."

Hiccup gaped. "What?"

Nestor gave him a half-smile. "The tunnel's still open, Hiccup. No sense in all three of us dying."

"No sense in _any_ of us dying," replied Hiccup. "I'm not about to…"

_But you are, child._

The voice rang out from the ether, not in their ears but in their minds. An intrusive presence filled with great power and unabashed confidence. The three of them glanced about to identify its source, finding none. Hiccup sought to place it, the mentally trespassing voice eerily familiar.

"Did you hear that?" asked Nestor.

"I wish I hadn't," said Hiccup, placing it at last. The voice that awoke him this morning, the voice that had come out of nowhere. He had thought it a part of a forgotten dream.

The tendril that smacked into Toothless caught them all with their pants down, partly due to the distracting voice and partly due to it coming from the ceiling for a change. Toothless cried out in pain as the tendril thumped against his side, swatting him downward. Nestor swore helplessly as his untethered body parted from Hiccup's saddle, falling onto the metal floor and sliding along the frictionless surface just behind Toothless. The powercore and tome came out of his hands and skidded along with him. The stunned dragon landed on his belly, too dazed to stop his momentum until he met the curving wall up ahead and came to rest against it. Nestor careened into Toothless and bounced off, managing to put his palms on the floor and brake with his barrier, gouging the metal with his fingers before coming to a halt.

Dizzy but unhurt, Hiccup tried to rouse Toothless before something else snapped out and snared him. Alas, that was precisely what happened, a trio of ropey tendrils jutting out from the wall Toothless rested against and wrapping around the dragon's torso, pining him to the floor. Toothless regained his wits, snarled his displeasure, and fired a bolt at the ensnaring wall. He blew a chunk of melted steel free of the wall, but it was as futile as fighting the tide, the hole filling in with more myssteel right before their eyes.

Nestor got to his knees just before something pounded him into the floor… literally. His barrier marked an outline in the surface as he tried to rise again, only to get smashed face down once more. The attacker repeated his blows twice more, further smashing him downward before trapping him under its bulk, Nestor weakly struggling and barely able to draw breath.

The tentacles trapping Toothless had missed Hiccup, the young lad detaching from the dragon and sliding to the floor, his left false foot slipping out from under him on the smooth surface. He sprawled on his back, grimacing upon hitting the unyielding metal, then grimacing again when he got a good look at Nestor's captor. Horrified, he clutched at the little dagger tucked in his belt, the feeble weapon he had decided to start carrying again thanks to recent events. Too bad touching it didn't make him feel any better, considering how useless it was.

The metal statue of Cervantes standing upon Nestor was as lifelike as a metal statue could get, the staggering amount of detail jaw dropping. It had the necromancer's uneven shoulders and sunken eyes, right down to his modest rags held together by thread and bone. But it wasn't a statue, though – it was another Monolith-created Guardian made in the necromancer's image. A giant-sized replica at least fifteen feet tall, it calmly gazed at Hiccup with soulless eyes as it ground Nestor under its heel.

The powercore glowed off to Hiccup's right, having collided with one of Toothless's paws. Knowing how vital is was to keep the artifact out of Cervantes's hands (and wondering why the Monolith hadn't already taken it) Hiccup reached over and grabbed it. He held it to his chest protectively, not sure if the powercore could do anything for him but not having anything to lose by trying.

_Now that your allies are incapacitated, _said the voice in his head, which Hiccup now assumed was a distorted version of Cervantes's voice, _I thought we'd take a second to discuss matters._

"Discuss matters?" said Hiccup, flummoxed. What was with the villainous exposition? "If you want to discuss matters, why don't you let my friends go and show yourself?"

_I'm here, child,_ said Cervantes, the metal statue smirking in concert with the voice. _It turns out that you don't so much control the Monolith… as you __**become**__ it. Not such a bad fate. I was looking to trade in my body for something better. _

Hiccup didn't think he could get more horrified, but he did. Cervantes was part of the Monolith, his brain somehow transplanted into the ancient war machine. They were one and the same. This Metal Cervantes, this voice in his head – all Cervantes. He had heard a term in passing from one of Gobber's stories, something he picked up during his travels. The word _avatar_ came to mind, as in an incarnation of a god created for interaction with humans. This animated statue was Cervantes's avatar, now that the necromancer had discarded his old bag of bones.

Cervantes, the Monolith. Cervantes, the Metal God.

Cervantes's avatar saw the terror on his face and laughed in his mind. _Do you understand now what you're up against, child? You should thank me for sparing your lives and your village. I could have overwhelmed you all at the onset, but I have no desire to see you dead, nor do I wish destruction for your people. All I wanted was to lure you back to me. A little misdirection, a little feigned weakness, plus a half-hearted attack on Berk, and you come cheerfully flying into the bowels of my new body thinking you were fighting the __**old**__ Cervantes. So here you are, giving me the second powercore free of charge. _

"Yeah, we figured that's what you wanted," muttered Nestor, his head poking out from below Cervantes's foot. "You didn't think we were that dumb, did you?"

The avatar's head focused on Nestor long enough to see him cry out from one more vicious stomp to the back. Incensed by his friend's pain, Hiccup moved his free hand from his dagger and groped around the small pile of myssteel debris, finding a suitable sliver with a sharp point. Still warm from Toothless's fireball, almost unbearably, he held it near the powercore with the tip poised for a plunge through the crystal's luminous surface.

Another laugh rang through his mind as the statue regarded Hiccup. Clearly Cervantes didn't think him a threat, not with him separated from Toothless and unable to stand properly. _So that's your plan, is it? Pierce the heart of the powercore and detonate it? Just like an infant toying with fire. But it doesn't have to be this way, child. As… annoyed as I was with the resolution of our last encounter, I was also quite impressed with your ingenuity. I can use that. I can use you._

"You're not seriously trying to recruit me, are you?" replied Hiccup. Cervantes's strategy eluded him. Couldn't he just take the powercore from him and be done with the drama? He had no problem subduing Toothless and Nestor. Did he consider Hiccup so little a threat that he didn't feel the need to try?

_I'm nothing if not a pragmatist, child. Berk is but one stop on my long path, and it might go quicker if I had a few allies to assist me. Believe it or not, you and your dragon have shown me the value of teamwork._

"I think you've missed the part where I don't deal with omnicidal maniacs," said Hiccup.

_But you do want your village spared, don't you? Your friends and family? I can stop now, move onward. My gift to you, if you join me._

"Let me rephrase. I will never, ever, ever, ever…"

_Do you really think you're no longer an outcast?_ interrupted Cervantes. _Remember, I watched you for a time. You spend your hours appeasing a culture that, until recently, was looking for an excuse to be rid of you. A stroke of luck gave you acceptance, but for how long? You did something heroic, but the power of such acts fades in time. You remain the same feeble boy once disdained by your brethren. Someday your people will grow weary of change, weary of the chaos you've brought into their lives, and you will return to the life of an outcast. I know you fear this. It is the fear every outcast knows. _

"Maybe it is," said Hiccup. "It doesn't mean I should sign up for necromancy lessons."

_But I can ensure you will never be an outcast, Hiccup. You've tasted it, the secrets and the adventure and the horrors of this life. You can't hide your head and pretend they don't exist. Your old life is too small now. Your village is too small now. You could be a mover and shaker in the world… perhaps even beyond. _

"Hiccup…" blurted out Nestor, the rest of his statement stomped into silence.

"Stop it!" said Hiccup, touching the myssteel sliver's tip to the powercore. Behind him, Toothless let out a growl of frustration and strained against his bonds. "You do that again…"

_Easy, child,_ cautioned Cervantes, easing up on Nestor but keeping his weight bared down on him. _Won't do your friends any favors to vaporize them. That is the end result of piercing a powercore, after all. Are you ready to sacrifice yourself, your friends, to stop me? Is what I offer such a bad alternative?_

"We were ready when we came here," said Nestor defiantly. "Hiccup, do it already."

Hiccup kept the sliver at the ready, suspicion crawling through his brain. Cervantes couldn't be serious about this. He had to have an ulterior motive, some reason to want Hiccup cooperative. He kept coming back to the fact that Nestor and Toothless were pinned down by the Monolith and he wasn't, that Cervantes was talking to him and not Nestor. What did Hiccup have…?

That was it. It had to be it. The one thing he had was the thing in his hands. Cervantes had attacked them and knocked the powercore away from them, but hadn't taken it when he had the opportunity. The guy could form tentacles and statues from the very walls, so why didn't he act?

"You can't touch it, can you?" said Hiccup, getting his knees under him but opting not to stand and have his metal foot slip again. "The powercore. You can't take it. That's why you're trying to sweet-talk me, isn't it?"

Cervantes kept silent, his metal avatar adopting an emotionless visage. That all but confirmed it. Crazy as it sounded, Cervantes couldn't touch the powercore.

_An irritating failsafe,_ said Cervantes. _It must be to prevent the Monolith's pilot from wielding too much power. It creates an external dependency. Someone else must install it before I can use it. The one thing you should keep in mind, however, is that while this failsafe prevents me from seizing the powercore, it __**doesn't**__ prevent me from hurting the one who holds it._

Something slithered around him before lifting into the air, revealed as another snakish tentacle armed with a spiky tip full of needle-thick barbs. Hiccup bit his lip to stifle his panic as three more tentacles solidified and thrust around him and over him, arcing in the air and poised for a kill. Hiccup shifted his myssteel shiv so that the he could bear down on the powercore in a heartbeat, praying that it would convince Cervantes to back off. Metal Cervantes only gave him a contemptuous smirk.

_If you're going to do it, then do it,_ dared the monolithic necromancer. _You won't, though. You're not capable of doing what needs to be done. But I can kill __**you **__and let the powercore reside within me until I try my luck with another individual more concerned with survival than morals. So what will it be, Dragon Rider? Can you win when you can't even stand?_

One thrust would end it, Hiccup realized. One thrust would prove Cervantes wrong and save Berk. One thrust, and everything would be over. It was the Viking way to die in battle, preferably with your enemy's heart in your hands. It was noble.

It was tragic. So very tragic.

He looked back at Toothless, bound and immobile but still loyal to the end. The dragon narrowed his eyes and gave him a determined smile. Brave Toothless, his partner in the air and in battle… and ready for one final act of bravery.

He looked forward at Nestor, buried beneath the avatar's heel. Lonely Nestor, not so alone any more. He gave Hiccup a vigorous nod, though his eyes conveyed the sadness of a man wishing this wasn't the end… and knowing it was.

"But I do stand, Cervantes," said Hiccup fiercely. "I stand against the mistakes of the past… and _you_ have to be one of the biggest mistakes of them all!"

Hiccup closed his eyes and pushed his makeshift weapon into the powercore. The shiv's point sank in with a crack, the voice in his head gasping with incredulous fear as the crystal shuddered in his hands. Hiccup's eyes reopened in time to see a shaft of blazing light blast out of the cut he made, enveloping the shiv and dissolving it. Hiccup thought his hand lost as well, another limb surrendered for the sake of his people, but his hand remained intact, illuminated in the light. It was tingly, but otherwise no more harmful than a sunbeam… to Hiccup, anyway. The Monolith wasn't so blessed, the shaft of energy connecting with the chamber walls and drilling through it, myssteel flaking and disintegrating like soap under a waterfall.

The crack in the powercore widened, splitting from the internal pressure of its contained mystical furnace, and another shaft of light emerged. This one found the avatar and sliced off its right leg, unbalancing the statue and causing it to fall off of Nestor, who wasted no time getting to his feet and smashing away at the damaged avatar with illuminated fists of his own making.

A third crack… a fourth… a fifth. A new light pulsed forth with each crack. The tentacles collapsed around Hiccup as the light sheered them in half. The ceiling of the chamber was assailed, myssteel dust tumbling down as the light dug holes through the Monolith's structure. Hiccup dropped the damaged powercore and crawled away, moving to Toothless as he grabbed another charred myssteel fragment with a halfway-decent edge. Tremors shook the floor as Hiccup sawed away at Toothless's bonds, desperation strengthening his hand as he tore great rents in the metal.

The mental voice became a garbled mess of noise as it surged through everyone's mind, a cacophony of jumbled words and emotions. Hiccup tried his best to ignore it, to pretend it was as ordinary as ocean surf and not the death knell of the Monolith… and what used to be Cervantes. He tried not to worry about the dozen shafts of Monolith-killing light he could see out of the corner of his eye, each shaft a dagger through the war machine's heart.

But he knew the Monolith was only minutes away from destruction, and they were smack in the middle of it. There was no way he'd free Toothless in time.

* * *

><p>Nestor finished off Cervantes's metallic avatar with a kick to the head, shattering its skull into hundreds of crumbling pieces. But so focused he was on the disintegrating statue that he didn't see the <em>new <em>one rise out of the floor behind him, first as a glob of molten myssteel and then spreading its mass out to rapidly form limbs and a torso.

It grabbed Nestor around his right leg with a half-formed appendage, Nestor too slow to react before the monstrosity effortlessly yanked him off his feet and slammed him hard enough against the floor to embed him in the metal.

It picked him up and slammed him down three more times, shaking the floor with each merciless blow. Nestor finally dangled upside down from the fiend's grip, barely conscious, his field a faint orange and growing fainter. The morphing avatar completed its transformation and glowered at Nestor, its face contorted in rage.

_Did you teach him this, lackey of Archibald? _Cervantes directed his ire solely at Nestor this time, somehow cutting through the mental chaos of the Monolith. _Was this your doing?_

Despite feeling like a beaten bearskin rug, despite the rush of blood to his head, Nestor managed to laugh in Cervantes's face, or what approximately substituted for his face. "Can't take credit here, necromancer."

_Your smugness shows your ignorance! Where I could have united this world, you and yours have doomed it! But perhaps I can take some small pleasure in watching you die…"_

_SHUNK!_

A whirling blade removed the avatar's hand from its arm, Nestor falling away to the hard floor. A second blade cleaved off both legs at the knees, the statue sliding off its severed limbs and collapsing backwards. The statue's shocked head rotated in time to see the lithe form of the Seer catch her daggers and cock her arms back in preparation for the next throw.

"You've taken much, Necromancer," she proclaimed. "You will take no more!"

Both daggers spun away, powered by the Seer's uncontained fury. A second later, the avatar's torso split open like an overripe peach, the myssteel construct dissolving and mingling with the rapidly-growing debris filling the chamber.

Loopy from all the abuse, his vision blurry from one too many slams to the ground, it didn't register on Nestor that the Seer was physically inside the Monolith until she was lifting him off the floor and supporting him under his right arm. The floor heaved and convulsed as more and more destructive shafts of light carved up the ancient war machine, making walking difficult and staggering impossible. Yet the Seer moved him nonetheless, heading for the nearby angry green thing with all the lightning. There was a good chance that was Arc.

"What're you doing here?" he asked groggily.

"Saving your life, Outlander," she replied.

"Ah, yeah, obvious question really," he remarked.

* * *

><p>"Hiccup, get back!"<p>

The voice sent two types of shivers up Hiccup's spine – the ones you get when someone you greatly care about shows up, and the ones you get when you realize they're right in the middle of an unfolding disaster. But those shivers got his blood pumping harder and he scurried away from Toothless on all fours.

One solid axe throw later, all the tendrils wrapped around Toothless were severed from their source, coming apart like leaves in the wind. Freed, Toothless bounded up and over to Hiccup as Astrid helped him stand up and balance on his metal foot.

"Astrid?" he said, still thrilled and terrified at her arrival.

"Like you're really that surprised," she replied. "The entrance is still open, so get moving! And remind me to break your legs later for trying something this stupid!"

As Astrid helped Hiccup mount up on Toothless, he saw Arc over near Nestor and the Seer, his draconian face an intense mask of concentration and rage as his electrical blasts lit up the gloom of the chamber. Any tendril or tentacle that dared to show itself was instantly reduced to scorched junk. He kept the escape tunnel clear all by himself, a furious demon in dragon form smiting all enemies in his sight. But he couldn't smite the ceiling, and it was only a few moments away from total collapse.

Toothless waited for Astrid to clamber on, then he was airborne and rushing toward the exit. There were dozens of light shafts filling the chamber with a devastating glow that was both intoxicating and horrifying. Hiccup spotted the powercore sinking into the floor as it dissolved the metal underneath it, an orb of golden light enveloping it and growing larger as the seconds ticked away. They had no time left, no time at all.

Arc all but threw Nestor and the Seer on his back and took off just as the floor gave out beneath him. Toothless was hot on his tail as the walls exploded around them, the energy veins rupturing and flooding the chamber with more mystical energy, hastening the destruction. The tunnel seemed to rock and shift, one section constricting as if the Monolith was having an asthma attack. Toothless and Arc took care of the problem with fire and electricity, flying through the wreckage and out into the sunlight.

So much like a living thing, this Monolith. Hiccup couldn't help but see it as such as they sped out from the tunnel and climbed away from the dying island. Tentacles writhed and fractured, hills grew and shrank, light poured from a thousand holes that perforated the metal crust. Geysers of energy and metal shards blossomed outward, transforming the sea into a bubbling cauldron. The island lurched and quaked, resisting its fate as vehemently as any organism might cling to life.

Astrid clung to Hiccup as Toothless charged towards the sun, Arc a heartbeat behind them. Hiccup urged him on, every instinct in him saying the same thing – they needed distance.

A _lot_ of distance.

* * *

><p>Some things end in a whimper, others with a bang. The bang the Monolith gave was felt all the way to Tempest Point, where the villagers mistook it for a particularly bright Northern Lights performance. Up close, the experience was akin to witnessing ten hurricanes all at once.<p>

With a roar that could deafen the Gods up in Asgard, the entire island flew apart into billions of glittering fragments, the blast cloud stretching up into the atmosphere a good half-mile. A gigantic burst of light, blinding and yet alluring, accompanied the whirlwind of chaos for the first few seconds, the light dispersing and dying as rapidly as it had appeared. A large amount of seawater evaporated around the explosion site, a literal cloud of steam billowing upwards in the form of a great mushroom. House-sized chunks of metal went airborne, some detonating into their own fragment clouds and others catapulting into the sea or colliding with the reefs.

The ocean succumbed to the power of the explosion, a wave front over thirty feet high rushing out from the blast point and engulfing the nearby reefs. While Berk was high enough off the sea to survive the tsunami, its badly trashed dockyard was finished off by the force of the waves, its wooden walkways smashed to rubble, its boats shoved onto rocks or other boats. It was fortunate that the docks had been abandoned during the previous battle, as no one standing upon them would have survived.

The energy release agitated the sky above the detonation, a brilliant band of iridescent colors forming in the stratosphere, bright enough to be seen through the fading sun. The color band persisted for several days, marking the place where the Monolith came to a violent finish, a phenomenon of beauty borne from destruction.

For the people of Berk, for Stoick and Gobber and the others, it had briefly felt like the end had come. So much raw unfocused power, and it had wrought such incredible destruction. They waited for it to overcome them, to wipe Berk off the map. But they felt only a slapping wind to the face and the tolerable burn of the light in their eyes. The wind passed, the light faded, and the waters receded. Though the docks were lost to the waves, Berk weathered this storm as it had all others.

Hundreds of eyes searched the sky for their champions, the giant killers, their one and true Dragon Rider and his friends. A task far from easy thanks to the settling dust cloud that glinted in the sun. Many false alarms went up, each time getting the village's hopes up and each time dashing them. A growing consensus of dismay took hold in their hearts as the minutes piled up with no sign or hint of survival.

But the dismay didn't take root in Stoick's heart. He stood his ground and looked to the west, to the setting sun. A whisper in his ear, perhaps. A thought, a silly, stupid-crazy thought. A hope, a wish, or just parental instinct. But he kept looking to the west, knowing that his answer would come from that direction.

He was the first to see the two dots in the distance, one black and one green. The first to see the outline of two dragons and four riders coming home. The first to see his son's beaming face as they came in over the still-standing village, the first to see Astrid and Toothless and Nestor and Arc and the Seer. And even when someone else finally saw the same thing and the thunderous cheers threatened to rob him of his hearing, he simply stood and watched his son come home.

He later claimed that the tears in his eyes were from all the Monolith dust floating in the air. No one believed him.


	20. Standing For

**Chapter Nineteen: Standing For **

Dragons aren't particularly useful in the trade of construction, not unless you're into demolitions, but they do make good workhorses when necessary, carrying lumber from the island interior in a fraction of the time a team of Vikings could do it. With their help, the Berkians were well on the way to rebuilding the village. Most homes became serviceable shelters again after only two days, though several houses still had to be built from scratch and the dockyard was an absolute mess. Stoick saw the dock reconstruction as a pleasant challenge, intending to expand the design to allow for more room for outside traders and making it more "dragon friendly," whatever that meant.

Injuries couldn't be fixed with saws and nails, though, and the many wounded Vikings and dragons convalescing in their beds and hay piles would take longer than a few days to mend. With the defenses down, anxious minds fretted about the possibility of the Gunnarr reneging on their treaty and attacking Berk while their strength was sapped. Such fears were put to rest when a longboat flying Gunnarr colors sailed into Berk's makeshift port three days after the Battle of Berk. A curt envoy delivered a scroll to Stoick, signed by the acting Gunnarr chieftain Headsnapper. The sum total of the message was to inform Stoick that Headsnapper's status as chieftain was no longer "acting" and that he would honor the treaty signed by his predecessor. The Elders had come to unanimous agreement over Stonefist and Cragfist's "questionable" judgment. There was no word given on Cragfist's fate, not that anyone cared.

There was a second message enclosed in the scroll, and Stoick choose to personally deliver it to the Seer, who resided in Astrid's home for now. Astrid's parents had been more than happy to put up the now-legendary warrior, though their hospitality did little to brighten the Seer's disposition. Nor did the message Stoick gave her contain good news.

Headsnapper wrote her personally to say that she would not be pursued, nor was she an enemy of the Gunnarr. She was free to return home, but she would have to face Judgment should she do so. On the surface it almost sounded positive, but the Seer shook her head and explained that, to the Gunnarr, Judgment was only for the guilty. Considering that treason was punishable by execution, Headsnapper had essentially warned her not to return.

Stoick offered her a place amongst his people, but she politely declined, saying that while she knew not her path now, she was certain it was not here. His people did not need a Seer, and she would undoubtedly feel pressured to reenter that role once more if she stayed. Stoick did leave the invitation open-ended, though he doubted she would ever take him up on it.

The Gunnarr problem finally over, the last few clouds of anxiety hanging over Berk blew away. The call for a celebration went out, and thankfully the summit hadn't completely drained Berk of its libations. The Great Hall had withstood the Monolith's assault with minimal damage, making it perfect for a grand party, as boisterous as only a mob of Vikings can make it.

That night, the Hall was packed with cheery souls, mugs in hands and songs on their lips. They chatted and swore good-naturedly, sharing their own harrowing tales of the Battle of Berk. Some sang epic poems, a few of them new and chronicling recent events. Gobber tried his hand with a poem titled "The Great Eyesore of the Sea," which somehow worked in an army of war-sheep and a bored Odin with indigestion. Critics agreed that it was not likely to get a repeat performance.

The party was fairly fluid, people mingling and switching seats as the night progressed. With his friends scattered about the Hall, Hiccup visited each one in turn so to not get too badly mobbed by all the well-wishers.

Snotlout was bragging to a group of pre-teen Vikings about the cool maneuver he and Hiccup did during the battle, adding that it had gone as brilliantly as _he_ had planned. Hiccup decided not to correct the record – there was plenty of glory to go around.

Fishlegs had his scrolls and pencils and was asking around for lots of eyewitness accounts on the various Guardians, hoping to get as much data as he could about the Monolith. He was already expressing a desire to write a new manual, abandoning future updates on dragons and concentrating on monsters and machines. He was going to be busy for a long time.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut were sticking together as usual, Tuffnut bragging to another crowd about their impressive kill count against the Heavy Guardians. Ruffnut seemed distracted, barely even insulting Tuffnut, and Hiccup wondered if she was still getting over her serious brush with death.

Even though the dragons deserved to join the festivities (and they did in their own fashion, gorging on fish throughout the night and frolicking in the sky above Berk), the rule about no dragons in the Hall remained enforced. There were notable exceptions, one of which had a revered spot next to Hiccup's table in the back, a trough of fresh fish at the ready. He sometimes got into contests with less-than-sober Vikings on who could outshoot the famous dragon, fireball pitted against throwing knife. After twelve straight contests, Toothless remained undefeated.

Hiccup gave his buddy a good scratching, and Toothless gave him a good nudging that almost cracked a rib. It was hard to imagine how he'd gotten through life without his Night Fury friend. The world just wasn't as scary when you had a dragon on your side. He felt a slight underpinning of fear, though, and that was due to the realization that Toothless was truly willing to fly him anywhere, even into the very heart of darkness itself.

Then there was Astrid, who was regaling a group of women warriors with stories about all her exploits over the last few days. Her fan base was definitely growing, many of the women wanting to know where they could get an axe like hers (and many men asking the same question). Hiccup decided not to interrupt her tale, but she did see him pass by, giving him a warm smile before returning to her audience.

He hadn't had much time to talk to her since the Battle of Berk. Too much reconstruction and too much fatigue. But she was always smiling at him whenever they crossed paths. They had made it through the battles and the chaos, through the uncertainty and doubt, and now they had time aplenty to plan the future. Tonight, after the party, they'd only have to worry about each other, and the anticipation settled on his heart like a warm blanket. Thoughts about travel, about other threats and other problems and other adventures – those were distant, hazy things. Enjoy the here-and-now, the one with his friends, the one with Astrid.

Something did nag at him, though. A tenacious thought about how things might go back to normal. Shouldn't be a bad thing, right? Except… it almost felt like it _was_ a bad thing. As much as he loved Berk and as relieved as he was that the Monolith was destroyed and Cervantes was gone, he felt a little sad at being… well, _back_. Back to hiding his tinkering. Back to training dragons and working in Gobber's shop. Back to worrying about Berk's future over his own. Back to sticking close to Berk on a dragon that would rather set a course to the end of the world and follow it all the way.

But this was what he wanted, wasn't it? He had acceptance, now more than ever. He had everything he had strived for, and he had protected it from both Cervantes and the Gunnarr. Why couldn't that be enough? Why _shouldn't_ it be enough?

Because after all this, Berk was just a little too small.

He fervently shook the thought away. Not thinking about it tonight, no sir. This was a happy occasion and he was going to be happy, darn it.

Hiccup moved toward the corner of the Hall where Arc sat, curled as tightly as his long frame allowed and intent on dutifully riding out the party. Arc had expressed no urge to fly off with the other dragons, but the human concept of partying had lost its appeal after his first few centuries of life. He nodded to Hiccup as the boy strode up to him, the dragon looking uneasy amongst all the loud Vikings and yet more at ease than any other time Hiccup had seen him before.

"You sure you don't want a keg?" offered Hiccup.

"It's not smart to get a Hyperion drunk, Young Hiccup," said Arc. "Besides, I haven't earned it."

Hiccup gaped. "You haven't earned it? Arc, if you still think you have a debt to us…"

"It's not about debt," said Arc. "Truth be told, I thought seeing Cervantes pay for his crimes and having a hand in his downfall would lift a weight off my shoulders. But by the time we fought the Monolith, I realized that the weight was already lifted. I knew vengeance does not bring relief, that only growth and new connections to life can make you whole again. But I had fallen into the trap of revenge, and that is a mistake an old dragon like me shouldn't make. So I don't deserve to celebrate tonight."

"Well, then how about as a thank-you for saving my life?" suggested Hiccup.

"Now _that_ was about debt, Young Hiccup," said Arc, "as was saving your village. I shouldn't be thanked for it." Then Arc smiled playfully. "But you'll owe me for my services from here on out."

"That's fair," said Hiccup, smiling back as he left the old dragon to his relative peace and quiet.

Either someone had accidentally eaten Nestor or else he was practicing his new Shrouding ability because Hiccup couldn't find him. The Seer was easily visible, sitting by herself at an empty table, but she was giving off a don't-come-near-me-if-you-value-your-life vibe and so Hiccup skipped her for now.

He found his father standing around, acting like he was a proper leader of men and trying not to get caught up in contests and song. Stoick did laugh as his son approached and said, "Will you let us carve a statue of you _now_, son, or do you want to take down a few hundred giants before you think yourself worthy?"

"It _was_ a team effort, Dad," said Hiccup.

"That it was, but we'd run out of stone before we gave everyone a statue that deserved it." Stoick took a breath to think about an alternative. "Will you agree to a bust? We'll put it over the fire pit at home."

"I don't do fame, Dad," Hiccup replied.

"You do seem uncomfortable with it," said Stoick. "At your age, I would've wanted a hundred statues placed all across the village, so that every future child of Berk would never forget my face. And if you asked, I'd do it, son."

"Thanks, but no thanks," said Hiccup. "Just name a longboat after me."

"You don't let it go to your head, my boy," said Stoick, smiling proudly. "You're going to make a fine chieftain someday."

Hiccup managed to act complimented by his dad's statement, but inwardly his nagging conflict made the idea of him becoming Berk's leader sound like a punishment. He really would be stuck with no more adventures, no chances to be the real Hiccup. His duties would consume him for the rest of his life, and that assumed he actually _was_ a good leader. Taking down monstrous threats wasn't the same as leading a village through bitter winters and lean fishing.

He shoved it out of mind once more, determined to not let that nagging, pestering thought interfere with his fun again tonight. At this, he utterly failed… though it wasn't really his fault.

* * *

><p>Nestor didn't need to Shroud to not be seen. The hulky Norsemen surrounding him easily obscured his thin body. He meandered through the crowds without any objective or desire, out of practice at socializing thanks to living in the wilds for so long. The Vikings treated him with respect, though, and he did get into an arm-wrestling contest that left one beefy Viking male with a sore arm and bruised ego. But he was still the Outlander to the Berkians, a title that stuck despite Nestor's efforts to go by his actual name, and few of the revelers sough him out on purpose.<p>

He thought about going over to Arc's corner and joining him for the rest of the celebration, even though Arc had told him to go have fun and leave him to his musings. He was even heading that direction when he was surprised by the girl named Ruffnut, nearly running into her and spearing himself on her new horned helmet in the process.

"Uh… hi… there," she said, hemming and hawing and looking towards the ground shyly. "I actually never had a chance to thank you for… you know, that thing you did."

"Well, I'm sure you would have done the same for me," said Nestor. "Ah… not that you could have. I meant in terms of intentions and not…"

He was saved from further babbling when she planted a warm kiss on his lips, Nestor rocking backward in surprise. The kiss lasted a mere second, Ruffnut breaking off and smiling at him happily just before disappearing back into the crowd, but Nestor thought it was a perfectly fine way to thank someone. The act of saving damsels in distress might be a cliché, but it did have its benefits.

But his warm thoughts went somewhere, and someone, else. He saw her occupying the same seat she had claimed since the party began, gazing off into space with a flagon in her hands that she probably hadn't put to her mouth once. Everyone else wisely avoided her. As Arc could attest to, Nestor wasn't the wisest of men.

The Seer saw him coming, yet she didn't attempt to warn him away with words or expression. She didn't flinch or scoot which he took a seat next to her, though she kept staring at that same flickering torch she'd been fixated on the whole time. Nestor wasn't sure what he was doing, or what approach he was taking here, but he knew he needed to say something before she did or else this momentary lull in her stolid disposition would correct itself.

"We'll be leaving soon," he stated. "Arc and me. Berk's nice and they're not kicking us out just yet, but it's just too cold here and you can only eat so much fish before you start sprouting gills. Besides, we have things to do."

"Like what?" she asked quietly, still focused on that really interesting torch.

"There's other threats out there," said Nestor. "The Artisans left behind a lot of deadly legacies, for starters. The Monolith was the biggest one, but not the only one. Plus there's your usual list of crazies and madmen out for power. Trust me, you never get bored in this line of work."

"Did you come over here for some reason other than to describe your plans, Outlander?" said the Seer.

"Hiccup told me you weren't staying in Berk, even though I think they'd love to have you stay."

"And you thought that I might need help in deciding my destination?" said the Seer, finally staring at him instead of the torch.

"You needing _my_ help? That's just crazy," said Nestor, half-smiling. "But we could still use yours. I only offer a road, and I can't say it's the best one. The miles are long, the conditions not real pleasant, and we might never come back this way again."

"I'm waiting for you to list the bad points," she replied, giving him a half-smile of her own. "Your offer is generous, Outlander. I will consider it."

Nestor scowled at the mention of his unwanted title. "One proviso, though, if you choose to accept. We don't go by titles, and we don't call people by their titles. So…" He scooted out from her so that he could hold out his right hand. "Formal introduction. Nestor."

She almost didn't go for it, eyeing his hand as if it was a tiger in disguise. It was hard to trust when you were taught to only rely on yourself, to never trust the outsider or the enemy. But she was no longer Gunnarr, not in any meaningful way. The old ways were dying, the old, cold ways of her people, and there were other paths to follow, other ways to be strong.

Perhaps it couldn't hurt to change a little more.

"Saga," she said, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. Her half-smile became a full one. "My birth name."

"Strong name," Nestor said. "Don't worry, I won't spread it around."

"Please don't, or I will separate your tongue from your mouth," she cautioned lightly. Nestor wasn't sure if she was kidding, but he was going to err on the side of caution here.

"There you are!" said Hiccup, walking into their line of sight and pointing at Nestor. "Were you hiding here the whole time, doing that Shrouding thing?"

"We were having a conversation," said Saga, "And he was quite visible."

"That's it?" said Hiccup. "Just a conversation?"

"Disappointed?" said Nestor. "I suppose we could fight to the death again for everyone's amusement."

"No, no, we're good," said Hiccup. "Just didn't want to have to deal with any more visions of calamity and disaster for a year… or ten."

Nestor chuckled. "I think we're safe for… ah…" He glanced back at Saga in time to see her wince in pain, her hands going to her head and a weak cry of anguish escaping her lips. Nestor almost went to her, fearing she'd just been struck by the worst migraine in history, but she pushed him away and bowed her head to the table, pressing her mouth to the treated wood and mumbling something over and over.

"What is this?" asked Nestor, very alarmed by Saga's sudden agony attack.

"She's having a vision," said Hiccup, as disturbed as Nestor. "Astrid told me about them."

"Didn't realize they were so painful," said Nestor. "You'd think…"

"THE SKY IS ALIVE!"

Her lips moved free of the table and she began yelling the phrase over and over. Even with the lively volume of the celebration, other people heard her anguished, repetitive words and looked her way. More and more people caught on that something was wrong, the party quickly coming to a halt as patrons flocked toward Saga's table. But none flocked as quickly or as forcefully as Arc, whose keen ears picked up the phrase from the other side of the Hall. His great scaly body pushed a path through the throng until he was standing over Saga's shaking form, the Seer's vision concluding as she regained her awareness of the world.

"You okay?" asked Hiccup as Nestor helped Saga to stand up. Astrid and the other Dragon Squad Riders stood behind Hiccup, his dad and Gobber coming up to his side. Toothless, sensing the distressful turn the party had taken, bounded over to Hiccup's other side, knocking a few Vikings out of his way in the process.

"What did you see?" demanded Arc, leering down at Saga.

Saga moaned once and opened her bloodshot eyes, her mouth curled in dismay. "A land, far to the south. That where it starts."

"What starts?" asked Nestor.

"That where it will come from," explained Saga, her eyes watering as she rubbed them. "A land hundreds, maybe thousands, of miles from here. There was a hole in the clouds, like a hand had grabbed a great tuff and ripped it away. Then something filled the hole and began to spread, the clouds falling apart at its touch. A living sky replaced it, a dark void that thrived…"

"By my ancestors," muttered Arc, turning away from her as if he'd heard enough.

"…thrived and hungered," continued Saga. "There was… there was a horrible light that it gave off, and the lands below it were touched by the light… and all died before it…" She trailed off, leaning on Nestor for support.

"Arc, do you know something about this?" said Nestor.

"I had hoped it was only an excuse," said Arc, his voice distant. "I thought Cervantes was trying to justify his actions with an old memory."

"Could you make some sense?" said Hiccup.

"While I was imprisoned under Cervantes, he shared his mind with me," said Arc, facing the gathered crowd. "Cervantes had the memories of Latimar, and he revealed that the dragon had escaped from a dying world. Something… unimaginable had come to eradicate all life from it, something that matches the Seer's description. Cervantes told me that he saw the signs… that this force or entity was coming to our world, most likely with the same intentions."

What little conversation remained in the Hall died off utterly as Arc spoke, disbelief and horror spreading throughout the crowd. This was the Seer's vision, after all, and she had a good track record. Arc confirming it only made it more real. The word _Ragnarok_ circulated aboutlike a bad smell.

"Are the Gods really this crazy?" commented Gobber. "We defeat one big beasty only to unleash the next one? What kind of insane natural order is this?"

"Some reason why you didn't tell us we were destroying the one thing that might stop it, Arc?" said Nestor accusingly.

"Would you have trusted Cervantes to save us, Nestor?" shot back Arc. "There wouldn't have been a world to save once he was done with us."

"I agree," said Saga, some of her old strength returning. "We acted as we had to. Now we must again." She looked straight at Nestor with her pained eyes, yet she seemed every bit the Seer she had always been. Nestor never thought he'd be relieved to see that stony face return, but he was relieved nonetheless.

"We'll send an army, then," said Stoick, his face adorned with determination. "Berk will go to war as we should have before." A few half-hearted cheers rose up in response, though with little enthusiasm.

"Great sentiment, Dad," said Hiccup. "Except that I don't think the Mainlanders will let an army of dragon-riding Vikings pass through their lands. Plus we're not going to get any of our dragons to go much further than the coast." He glanced at Toothless. "Well, except maybe…"

"An army would not help," interrupted Arc. "If this… thing arrives, we will be helpless against it. This I have seen clearly. I have little trust for visions, but I trust the Seer. I also trust that the Seer would not have received this vision if we didn't stand a chance in stopping it from coming to pass."

He faced Stoick and the whole of the Berkian flock, adopting a regal posture, acting as stately as any human chieftain. "You and your people have fought well, but you have done enough. Rebuild your village and prepare for the winter. Live your lives as you would. I will address this threat, learn what I can, and gather allies."

Nestor noticed Hiccup whispering something in Toothless's ear, the black dragon looking contemplative and then waggling his head, his usual sign of agreement. Hiccup straightened up when he saw Nestor staring, as if caught in the act of doing something naughty. Nestor might have asked a question about Hiccup's intentions had Stoick not spoken up just then, diverting his attention.

"It's not our way to let a friend go into battle alone," said the chieftain. A number of voices echoed his feelings.

"Well, he did mean _we_," said Nestor. "We're still partners, old man."

"That was a given, I thought," said Arc.

"And I am coming as well," said Saga, standing without aid once more. "For now, my path will be yours."

Arc was surprised by this development. "The risks are great, Young Seer."

"We stand against the mistakes of the past, so that they don't harm the future," she stated. "To stand against anything requires risk, does it not?"

Arc nodded his head, warmed by the recitation of his old vow. He gave his young ex-apprentice a proud grin. "Your handiwork, I imagine."

"We stand between the world we care about and the ones that wish to destroy it," Nestor answered. "Doesn't matter who's doing the destroying."

"We stand for the one thing worth standing for… hope."

It wasn't Arc who finished the last line of the Hyperion vow, the speaker stepping forward with his dragon friend at his side. The room fell silent once again as Hiccup stood before the green dragon, as determined as the bravest Viking Berk had ever supplied the world.

"Hope needs all the help it can get, and so do you," said Hiccup. "We're coming with you, Toothless and me." Toothless waggled his head again, confirming that Hiccup truly spoke for him, not that there was much doubt.

* * *

><p>A lot of excited murmurs erupted at Hiccup's back. Hiccup didn't dare turn around to confront the stares and the what-is-he-thinking whispers coming from his friends. He didn't dare look at his father, who couldn't possibly be happy about this. He couldn't, absolutely couldn't, look at Astrid, whose eyes he could feel boring into the back of his scalp. He could see Arc's reaction, astonishment with a helping of dismay, and pictured Astrid's face as a thousand times worse.<p>

"Young Hiccup…" began Arc.

"Let me, old man," said Nestor. Arc acquiesced as Nestor pulled Hiccup aside, away from the stares and the murmurs. They went to a corner of the Hall, where it was just the two of them in the shadows.

"Hiccup, don't do this," whispered Nestor.

"What, the Seer gets an invitation but I get the brush-off?" Hiccup replied testily.

"You know that's not it. You made it through. You had a taste of my life and you survived it. Better yet, you still have your own life, a future. Why are you doing this?"

Hiccup already had an answer, much to his own surprise. "Because I can't live my life knowing you're out there fighting, maybe dying, for all of us. Because your life isn't that horrible, and mine isn't that wonderful. Because I feel like myself when I'm riding Toothless and taking on abominations and Guardians. Because I need to see more of the world, so I know what I'm fighting for. And because I love Berk, I love my father… and I love Astrid, and the only way I'll know they'll be okay is to be with you guys, making sure the world's still standing in the morning. Remember that thing you call balance? Well, if I want balance in my life… I have to go with you to find it. Does any of that make sense?"

Nestor wanted to tell his friend his concerns were overblown, misplaced, but he couldn't. He wanted to find some reason to make Hiccup stay. But he couldn't. He sighed, defeated already… but not disappointed with his defeat.

"You'll have to square it with your people," said Nestor. "I'm not taking the heat for you."

"I'm not worried," said Hiccup, shrugging. "They would've been _thrilled_ to get rid of me not so long ago."

But that clearly wasn't the case any longer, and Hiccup knew that in his heart as he and Nestor walked back to the gathering. His father waited for him, his eyes downcast but not angry. Telling himself that his dad could only kill him once, Hiccup walked up to him and prepared for another bout of fatherly scolding.

"Dad…"

"You've earned the right, Hiccup," his father said, though his eyes failed to meet Hiccup's. "I don't… I don't want you to do this. We need you here. _I_ need you here. But I think the world needs you more." His eyes met his son's, and the combination of pride and sadness threatened to draw tears out of Hiccup.

"You have a place with us, Young Hiccup," said Arc, "if you still desire it. I assume Nestor maintains his inability to sway you from foolish paths."

"I do," said Hiccup, "and he does." Nestor laughed, as did others. Almost at once, the disbelief of his people became congratulations and a groundswell of support. The party would resume where it left off, less rowdy and more subdued as the conversations revolved around the heroes who would be off to save the world, the son of Stoick the foremost among them.

But Hiccup's party was over, his heart already straining with the notion that he might never see Berk again. Or perhaps it was over the fact that during his discussion with Nestor, Astrid had quietly walked out of the Hall.

* * *

><p>By the time Toothless was outfitted with all of Hiccup's traveling gear, the black dragon had to be packing another two hundred pounds. Toothless took it all in stride, since none of the gear involved a hazardous hair-trigger mechanical device attached to his belly. Some of it was recovered myssteel fragments, a good fifty pounds of scrap. A going-away present from Gobber, figuring that Hiccup could put it to good use… or any use, since Hiccup was the only one who knew how to treat it.<p>

The gods were granting Berk one final day of good weather, a dark storm front putting on a threatening performance from the east. This one was going to hit the village in less than a day, so most of the Berkians were busy sealing their new roofs and windows before the rains hit. But that hadn't stopped the village from gathering at the dockside cliffs to see Hiccup off, a cluster of his friends at the head of the pack. A fair number of dragons circled overhead, attracted to the commotion and the impending departure of two good friends.

Nestor and Arc stood off to the side, allowing for the long goodbye before the far-longer flight to the south. They weren't leaving empty-handed, their own packs and baskets brimming with preserved supplies, namely jerky and other dried meats. Arc had lucked out with a basket full of smoked eels, which he considered a fine delicacy, though something of an acquired taste. For some odd reason the village had a surplus of them, and the villagers were more than happy to part with the whole batch.

The Seer (or Saga if you were in the know) would be joining them shortly. For someone with such a keen talent for being at the right place at the right time, she was inexplicably late.

Hiccup had said his goodbyes to most of the acquaintances in his life. Now it was time for the harder farewells.

"Maybe it's a good thing you're going," said Snotlout, surprisingly morose. "While you're gone, I'll get to be the hero for a change. I just wish you hadn't pushed the bar so high."

"I'll miss you too, Snotlout," said Hiccup. "No one can abuse me like you do."

"Oh, c'mon, let's not go there. We're too manly." But he did shake Hiccup's hand; the friendliest act Snotlout had ever shown him.

Fishlegs went right for the bear hug, nearly causing Hiccup's eyes to pop out of their sockets. "Breathing… need breathing…" gasped Hiccup, convincing his giant friend to ease up.

"Remember to write down everything," said Fishlegs. "And bring back lots of mementos. I need visual aids."

"Right, for the new manual you're writing," said Hiccup.

"That?" Fishlegs brushed it aside. "I've got a better idea: a bunch of little scrolls, each one about a different dragon or monster with all its stats. People can collect them and pretend they're fighting with them, like in a duel. I'm still working on the rules, though."

"O-kay, sure," said Hiccup, privately thinking that the idea would never gain traction.

Tuffnut was next, his halfhearted smile failing to hide his glum mood. "Make sure to strike some fear into the populace wherever you go. We can't have people thinking Vikings are wimps."

The handshake that followed ended with Tuffnut wincing and pulling his hand back, rubbing his thumbnail. "Yeouch! Not so hard. I still have a splinter."

"You're still crazy, you know," said Ruffnut when Hiccup got to her. "You're leaving Berk in the hands of _these _guys." She pointed a thumb at her brother and the other Dragon Riders. "What do we do when we get attacked by devil whales or ice bees or whatever?"

"I think you guys can cover it," he said confidently. "Besides, you'll have Astrid to…"

Saying her name made him glance forlornly at the spot next to Ruffnut, the empty one they were keeping open in case… well, just in case.

He knew it was going to be hard. He just hadn't realized how hard. He had gone by her home earlier in the day, only to be greeted by her mother at the doorway and informed that Astrid didn't want to talk. Her mother had a sympathetic smile for him, but no other hint at Astrid's state of mind.

He wanted to tell her so badly that this wasn't planned, that he was coming back to his home when Arc and Nestor and the Seer didn't need him elsewhere, that he could brave new lands and new peoples and a world-eating horror thingy with his head held high because of her friendship… and her love.

But he wasn't going to get that opportunity. They had no idea how long they had before the Seer's vision came to pass. They had to leave _now_, and he couldn't wait for Astrid to calm down and emerge from her seclusion. He would have to settle with knowing she was safe… and safely hating him for leaving.

But he had hoped she would see him off, and she wasn't even going to give him that.

"She might just be running late," said Ruffnut supportively, getting points for perceptiveness. Then she shook her head. "Sorry, that was a lame excuse."

"It's okay, Ruff," he said. "Today, I'll take a lame excuse over the truth."

Before he moved on, Ruffnut whispered in Hiccup's ear a favor he could do for her: namely, telling Nestor that if he ever came back to Berk, he should "look her up." Hiccup said he would tell him when he got the chance.

"You know, lad," said Gobber, the second-to-last in the lineup, "if you didn't want to work in my shop any longer, you could've just said so. You don't have to travel halfway across the world."

"It was the only way to be sure," said Hiccup, smiling at the jest.

"You packed all the spares for your foot? Trust me, you don't want a breakdown on the road."

"Extra grease and everything."

Gobber laughed and placed his good hand on Hiccup's shoulder. "Lad, I'll be honest. I was worried about you for a long time. It's why I took you on as an apprentice, so you'd have a chance to succeed in this dragon-killing world we live in. Had I known how much damage you'd cause in the process, I might have done things differently. But no regrets, lad, not one. And… I don't think I have to worry any longer." Then he made an excuse about a bug flying into his eye and pushed his former apprentice along.

He was to his dad at last, his father trying his hardest to live up to his namesake and failing. He had to clear his throat a few times before he could dare speak, righting his helmet when it wasn't crooked, and claim that the same swarm of bugs that had gotten to Gobber's eyes now pestered him.

"I'm not good with goodbyes, son," he said. "There's too much to say, and not enough time to say it."

"You don't have to say anything, Dad," said Hiccup.

"Really? Good, 'cause otherwise I'm won't get through this." Stoick cleared his throat a fourth time. "Truth is, Hiccup, it's times like this I wish your mother was here. For starters, she was a lot better at being touchy-feely than me. But mostly… mostly, I just wish she could have seen the man you're becoming… the man you are. Not sure she'd approve of you flying off to battle Ragnarok itself, though. I just want you to know that I don't care how many pretty ladies you meet out there or how many fascinating legends you run into, or how many foes you have to burn your way through. Just know that we'll be waiting for you when you're ready to come home."

Hiccup hugged him, unable to resist the impulse and not caring how emotional it made him look. Stoick needed only one strong arm to embrace his son, also not caring in the slightest about how ruined his image was at this point. In fact, that same horde of eye-assaulting invisible bugs found many victims that day as the crowd watched father and son say goodbye.

"I'll miss you, Dad," said Hiccup, tearing up from his own pent-up emotion. "I'll make you proud."

"You're already there, son," he said softly, his voice cracking. "You're already there."

* * *

><p>The whetstone moved across Astrid's axe blade for the hundredth time, or possibly five hundredth… or who really cared? Astrid sure didn't. The whetstone in her hand had countless scratches and scarring on it from tangling with the super-sharp blade, but Astrid kept running the stone along the blade over and over, lost in the repetition. Lost in the flow of the motion.<p>

Just… lost in general.

She sat cross-legged on a lumpy boulder, using the eastern cliff face as a vantage point. The view was marred by the incoming storm clouds, but she hardly cared. It was far away from the docks, far away from… well, from Hiccup.

The whetstone took another deep cut as it slid on the myssteel blade, nearly cutting a chunk off and slicing into Astrid's hand. She was aware enough to note it, but she merely flipped the stone over and altered her movements so that the blade couldn't slice in.

He'd be gone soon. Toothless and Arc were supposed to leave by midday in order to beat out the storm. She only had to wait a few more minutes and…

"You are facing the wrong direction," said the voice behind her. "You should be looking south."

Astrid knew it was Saga, but she glanced backwards just to be sure. The Seer stood a few feet away, outfitted for travel but still wearing her traditional Gunnarr black-and-red ensemble, a basket slung on her back.

"I'm looking where I want to look," said Astrid morosely.

"As you wish." Saga came around the boulder and stood near Astrid, regarding the clouds on the horizon with curiosity. "Always some new storm to watch for, isn't there?"

"Seems that way," said Astrid. "Did you know it was coming?"

Saga shook her head. "Not this one." She turned her scrutinizing blue eyes on Astrid now, Astrid choosing not to reciprocate. "I wanted to tell you that I value our friendship, Astrid, and I hope that our paths cross again in time. You and I were not planned, and somehow that makes it better."

Astrid did smile slightly at that. "Thank you. If you ever need a home, you have one."

"Home." Saga mouthed the word slowly, as if exploring its contours in her mind. "Home can be so many things. Until now, I thought home meant my people. Now it is an idea, perhaps even a goal."

"I only meant…"

"I knew what you meant, and it is appreciated. But tell me, what is home to you?"

"Home to me?" said Astrid, the question feeling silly. "Berk, of course."

"Which means what?"

"What's with the questions?" asked Astrid, growing annoyed.

"These are questions I ask myself, Astrid," she explained. "I thought I understood what home meant, what being the Seer meant, what my life meant. Now I know nothing, and it's both scary and liberating."

"Well, I'm good, thanks," said Astrid, her tone acidic.

Saga shook her head again. "No, you're not."

Astrid made an irritated sigh. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I tell things as they are, just like when I told you that you should be looking south."

Astrid bit her lip, her temper rising as she made one more unnecessary whetting. Then she cocked her hand back and tossed the whetstone over the cliff, the stone sailing out of sight. She got down off her perch and whirled on Saga, her face boiling with anger. "He told me that he wanted to stay in Berk! He told me over and over! 'Astrid, I like it here.' That's what he told me! But as soon as you start predicting some new disaster, he takes it as a sign to leave! So I may never see him again, and I have you to thank for it! So yes, I'm not good, but I'm not looking south!"

Her fury spent, Astrid leaned against her boulder and closed her eyes, trying to get herself back under control. Saga watched her dispassionately, letting Astrid calm down before she dared speak again. With the sun almost directly overhead, she had only a minute to spare. It would have to be a well-played minute.

"You care for Hiccup," she stated.

"Yes!" Astrid. "I thought that was pretty obvious."

"But you believe he doesn't care for you."

"I… no… no, that's not what I believe. I know he cares. He's always cared."

"So why would he abandon you?"

Astrid struggled to keep her temper in check. "Were you not listening?"

"I heard it all, Astrid. You believe he cares for you, but is now abandoning you. Why would he do that?"

Astrid looked out over the sea once more, looking helpless and torn up. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Beyond your anger, you know why."

"The 'why' doesn't matter," Astrid declared. "Don't you see? You were right all along. Making your soul as cold as the ice – it's the only way to avoid… feeling like this."

Saga walked to her and put a friendly hand on Astrid's shoulder guard. "You and I are alike in one true way – we are better at confronting death on the battlefield than our own humanity. You taught me a lot about my own. I hope you will not start running from yours."

Saga said her farewells and moved on, Astrid still refusing to look anywhere other than east, out at the expansive sea. Look south? What was there to see? More ocean? More cliffs? The village that's been her home for her entire life? Look south – a silly thing to tell someone to do.

Yet Saga had that infuriating ability to make things happen. If she looked south, something _would_ happen. Astrid didn't want anything to happen. She was right, she knew she was right. Hiccup had said he would stay, and he wasn't staying. Simple as that.

No, not so simple. The world needed champions, didn't it?

Hiccup was _hers_. The world could get its own.

But he wouldn't be Hiccup if he turned his back on a friend, on a threat… on the world.

Well, she didn't have to play along. She didn't have to care. She could go back to that selfish person she used to be. She could forge her own path. She could…

No, she couldn't.

As if some external hand was grasping her neck and turning, she looked south. Nothing remarkable to see, as she expected. Just the straw roofs of her village, the grassy knolls of her youth, the rocky shoals and cliffs and…

And Hiccup and his father in the distance, surrounded by friends old and new, saying farewell to one life and the start of another.

Just like that, the fortress of despair and anger she had fortified within her crumbled. What a mistake she was making. By the Gods, she couldn't leave things like this! Hiccup didn't deserve it… and _she _didn't deserve it either!

Panic seized her as she sought out the sun. Her panic intensified – noonday was right now. She grabbed her axe and ran full out down the hillside. She had to make a stop first, no way around it, but right now she felt like she could run forever, that maybe time would slow for everyone else but not her. Just give her a few minutes more… please.

* * *

><p>The goodbyes were over, and time didn't slow down one nano-second.<p>

The Seer arrived right at noonday, graciously thanking Stoick and the village for their friendship. She and Nestor boarded Arc's scaly back once more, Nestor chiding his friend and mentor about how he was starting to get used to this and Arc informing him that if he didn't want to swim to the Mainland, he might want to stay silent on the matter.

Hiccup mounted Toothless and gave his village a final wave, feeling torn and thrilled and heartbroken and excited all at once. The first day of a new journey started now. He only wished… well, there was no more point in wishing.

They took off together, Arc and Toothless, the airspace clear and breezy from Berk all the way to the Mainland. They made two sweeps over the village, waving and shouting goodbye to the various faces below, Arc having to remind Hiccup that they did actually have to leave the island.

They climbed toward the sun, its brilliance obscuring them from the onlookers on the ground. Its warmth melted their fears and gave them hope for a speedy journey and a successful outcome; one the world might live to see.

One figure on the ground sprinted right up to the southern cliffs and yelled out Hiccup's name over and over. She had missed Hiccup's takeoff, his flyover, his departure. She had seen the black dragon's silhouette against the blinding midday sun, but the glare soon robbed her of even that small glimpse.

She screamed out his name again, the nearby crowd watching as she frantically waved and jumped up and down. She did this with a desperation rarely seen in her, heedless of how it might look to her friends.

But no black dragon dropped down from the sky. No replying call echoed to her ears. No last chance after all. They were away.

Hiccup was gone.

Astrid's arms hung limp at her sides as she turned from the cliff, all her panic and anger depleted, leaving only a hole in her heart so big that a spear could have gone right through it and she'd have felt nothing. How could she have blown this so badly? Why did she have to be so stubborn?

The recriminations fell away as she walked back to the village, using every ounce of self-control not to start bawling right there. But she didn't have any left and she had to put her hands to her face as the tears began to stream down her cheeks. This wasn't how a warrior conducted herself, but she couldn't stop now if she wanted to.

Hiccup…

The flapping of wings behind her barely registered on her. This was Berk – something was always flapping. But then the low welcoming growl did register, and she turned around to see a grinning Night Fury before her. The rider on top wore the same grin, along with some teary relief in his eyes.

"Has anyone ever told you that you can yell _really_ loud?" said Hiccup.

He disembarked and ran to her as she ran to him, the two of them colliding in a tight embrace. They held each other, too overwhelmed to say anything as a few onlookers made their happy comments, mostly along the lines of "Finally!" and "I win the bet!"

Once he open his eyes again, Hiccup spotted Astrid's axe lying on the ground up the path to the village center, next to a wicker basket used for… travel. Was she…? She couldn't be, could she?

When they finally pulled apart enough to face each other, Hiccup got in the first word. "Astrid?"

"I'm coming with you, Hiccup," she declared happily.

"Really?" He said, happily confused or confusedly happy, he wasn't sure. "For me?"

Astrid laughed. "Well, not _just_ for you, but you're a big reason."

"But Berk's your home."

"Home's an idea," she replied. "It's a goal. And I feel at home with you, whether it's in Berk or in a monster's belly."

"What about things getting… you know, settled?"

"I don't think things will _ever_ be settled with you, Hiccup. It's not who you are. But I'll take my chances."

"What about…"

"Beatrix will be fine. My parents will look after her."

"Which brings me to…"

"They're okay with me leaving. I asked them before I got here."

Hiccup laughed. "I guess they never stopped you from doing anything before." But his levity broke down as one more disturbing thought came to light. "You do realize that we might be flying to our certain doom."

"That's why I'm coming. You're standing for us… but someone has to stand for you." Her smile radiated pure warmth. "I'm always standing for you, Hiccup. Why would I stop now?"

Before he really knew he was doing it, he pulled her back in and kissed her. Not a quick peck, not a short thank-you like before, but a real honest-to-Gods kiss. His arms encircled her waist and hers clung to his shoulders, their lips saying so much without speaking. Berk winked out for those few precious seconds, their reality composed of only Hiccup and Astrid.

Their kiss came to a close way too soon, the two of them smiling at each other and ready to do it again. But then a gruff throat cleared itself above their heads, a shadow swallowing up their sunlight. Arc had positioned himself right over them, snickering with a gentle smirk. On his back, Nestor and Saga were also smiling, Saga knowingly and Nestor apologetically.

"Sorry to be the mood-killer once again," said Nestor, "but we do have a world to save."

* * *

><p><em>So there you have it. I guess I could have called this "How I left Berk" or some other title that spoils everything, but I like to think that the best stories are the ones you have to guess at.<em>

_I'm scared, I'll admit. Even with Astrid and Toothless, even with friends like Nestor and Arc and Saga… Saga? Really?… I don't know what to expect. No idea when I'm coming home, no idea what were going to find, and no idea how we're supposed to fight something that makes banquets out of entire worlds. _

_That's one giant avalanche to deal with. But we can do it. We can pull it off. That's what we call hope. _

_Hyperions and Night Furies, Seers and Outlanders, Warriors and Tinkerers. Humans training dragons and dragons training humans. Maybe it's been done before, maybe it even failed before. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try it again. It doesn't mean we can't learn from the past and do better this time. _

_Looks like we have a long trip ahead of us, though. Don't worry – I'll tell you when we get there._

* * *

><p><strong>Final Notes: <strong>First things first:

- To all you readers, from the ones who gave me your two cents to the ones that only showed up as ticks on the stat counter, thank you. This was fun for me, and it made me write more energetically than I have in months. I'm glad to have shared this with you all, and I hope that it was worth the rather lengthy ride. It was great to get feedback, and it's helped me get inspired again.

- So, obviously, a set-up for a sequel. That means one's right around the corner, right?

Well...

* First off, this project ate up all of my free-writing time, and as I have stated, I do have a barely-alive writing career I want to work on. Fanfic is fun when done well, but it's not going to help me with my career, other than giving me more practice at both writing and policing myself.

* The reason why I tackled this during the summer is because I had the time to do so. With school in, I only have a good two-hour window each day to write in. I had to do evenings and weekends for this story. Again, I had a great time, but it was a killer pace.

* Lastly, the sequel is not as well formed as this story. It needs time to gel a bit. In other words, it's going to be a while before the sequel comes out. Probably not until next summer, when my time is free again.

* Oh, right, the **other** last reason: when I did a sequel to my last fanfic series, almost no one read it. I stopped it "mid-series," something I hate to do. My reasons are in my profile, so I won't repeat myself here. If people want the sequel (knowing it will be some time before it comes out), let me know. _Seriously_.

It can be a one-word review or message that says "sequel." It can be an essay that repeats the word "sequel" over and over. I'm not picky. But as I've said, I have other projects I want to do, and I need to know there's an audience wanting me to do this again. Don't be shy. Let me know.

(A few of you have already said so, and I greatly appreciate that. As for the rest of you...)

A few things to consider: Berk is gone. We're finished there for now. We'd be in new territory. My idea is to show a bit more of the world of HTTYD (my version, anyway), so there will be new characters and such. If you like how I do things, you'll have to trust that I'll do what I can to make it all suitably epic.

- If anyone wants the whole story (sans those pesky author's notes) for reprint on some other website, contact me and I'll send you the file via attachment. I mean, what else am I going to do with it?

- Finally, anyone knows of any artwork done for this story (I doubt there is, but you never can tell), I'd appreciate a link. That would be cool... as I absolutely suck at drawing.

All I have left to say is thank you all again... and... onwards.


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